Us and Them
by bookgodess15
Summary: It wasn't two days ago that I rescued you from your burning apartment, and now look at you—unable to even look at me. I don’t understand why you’re doing this... and I hate it. [HouseChase]
1. Jump In The Fire

**Author's Notes: **Hello! Welcome to _Us and Them_! This is actually part of the _Doubt, Encore, DNR_ trilogy, but you don't have to go and read those to understand this - it just gives a lot of this a backstory, and explains a few references. There are seven chapters, all of which have already been written, so updates are going to be steady. Enjoy!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 1  
_(Jump In The Fire)_  
**

It was a Saturday morning. Chase had been on call all night long, because of the extra time he'd been doing in NICU, and he was ready to drop dead. He hadn't showered since Friday morning, and his blonde hair was flopping in front of his eyes and limiting his vision, but he didn't care. Every muscle in him seemed ready to just slip off of his bones and fall into a pile on the floor, and his eyes burned every time that he blinked as if they were punishing him for making them stay open. They burned more fiercely still in the piercing sunrise that he was driving into.

His apartment was more than an hour away from the hospital, and Chase scarcely thought that he could make it past the next traffic light, let alone all the way through the city and to his apartment complex. He braked at a stop sign and rubbed his hand over his eyes, holding back a sigh. Making up his mind, he flipped on his turn signal and turned right.

House's apartment wasn't more than two minutes away from here. Chase was sure that he wouldn't mind him crashing on the couch for a few hours—besides, House would probably be at the hospital anyway. If he ended up being home, Chase would just remind him of last weekend when House had gotten completely sloshed and spent the night over at Chase's place. Tit for tat and that whatnot.

But as Chase came onto House's street, something was wrong. House's apartment building, the window above him, was billowing out great clouds of black smoke. People were gathered in the streets like ants about a crumb, swarming and pacing. One man was on a cell phone. Another girl had a cell phone out and was taking pictures. Chase nearly crashed into the crowd of people because he momentarily forgot that he was still driving a car. All he was focused on was the building, House's apartment.

"What the hell are you doing?" a man outside of the car demanded, being one of the ones that he'd nearly run over, but Chase put his car into park and didn't even bother sparing him a glance.

He pushed his car door open and looked around at the gathering. "Hey!" he shouted, because with the crackle and thumping of the fire mixed in with the chattering swarm of people, it had become almost deafening. "Hey! What's going on?"

"Fire," a woman said. She was balancing a toddler on her hip, and kept glancing from the building back to her child.

"Has anyone called the police? How long has it been like this?" Chase asked, trying to survey the people before him for House, wanting to make sure that he'd gotten out in time.

"Sure, they called the police. The fire department is on the way... by my watch, they won't be here for another twenty minutes if I know this city." The toddler began to bat at the woman's hair clip, and she paused to retrain his tiny hands.

"Did anyone come out of there?" Chase asked, standing on tip toe—House was nowhere to be seen.

"Hm?" she asked him, looking up. "Oh, I don't know. I just got here about ten minutes ago. They say it's been blazing for about a half an hour." The toddler finally got tired of his mother's negligence and yanked the hairclip out. As the mother turned to scold her son, Chase pulled out his cell phone.

With trembling fingers, he punched in the number and brought the phone up to his ear. It rang once... twice... three times... four... five... Chase snapped the phone shut and tried to calm his racing mind. House always answered his cell phone. Always. His pager he might ignore, but never his cell phone. There were select few people who knew that number, and even fewer who would dare to call it.

"Excuse me," he said to the girl who was snapping pictures madly. She paused long enough to spare him a glance. "Was there anyone in the building?"

"No," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes and putting her cell phone down for a moment.

"No one came out?" Chase asked her, panic rising in him.

"No," she said, giving him a funny look. "Why?"

"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked her seriously.

"Yeah," she said, with a certain 'duh' expression on her face, but Chase was beyond caring. "I lived upstairs, I think I'd know."

"You lived upstairs?" Chase said, momentarily taken aback.

"Yeah. I'm taking pictures for proof for the insurance company," she said importantly.

Chase was too worried to point out that the burned remains of the building would have been proof enough. "And the man who lived downstairs? What about him?"

"The one with the cane? Um..." The girl bit her lip. "I thought he was at work. He usually is on Saturdays."

"You're sure?" Chase asked, feeling the lead weight come off of his chest and the panic slow. House was fine, there was no reason to be worried.

"Pretty—oh! You know what? I don't think that he went to work this morning," the girl said, and Chase felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. "He was playing that stupid piano until five in the morning, and then we didn't hear anything from him again. And we always hear his door open—it squeaks."

_Playing that stupid piano..._

Her words rung in Chase's mind as he stared at the burning building with a renewed fear. He knew, with a cold and despairing certainty, that House was inside of that burning building. There was an iron ball rolling about in his stomach, sending a chill down his spine as he thought of House... What had it been now, a month? Certainly not long enough, nowhere near enough. It felt like he could spend a hundred years with House, and it still wouldn't be long enough.

His mouth felt slick and tasted of old chili dogs, and his stomach gave a squeeze. The world around him spun and all the noise around him blurred together like a big carousel, and the only thing he could think of was the fire.

"Hey mister!" It was a moment before he realized that the girl's face was in front of him, tapping hesitantly.

Coming to his senses, Chase shook the hair out of his eyes and swatted the girl's hand away from his face. Before he could properly think about things, he was heading towards the building with a mad passion burning in him. House, House needed him as he had needed House so many times before. He would _not_ just stand by and watch while he was burned to death. He had to save him...

"What are you doing?" someone demanded, but Chase paid no attention to them as he walked up to the door and used his shoulder to slam it open. His shoulder throbbed painfully, but the more immediate concern was the intense heat that swept over his face. All the shouts from the outside faded away to the thrumming of the fire, the crackles of wood popping and the creaking of the support beams weakening. For one moment, Chase thought of turning back—but then the moment was gone. House needed him.

He stepped in, ignoring the ceiling above him that was groaning. Most of the fire was still upstairs, and had only broken through the ceiling about twenty feet down the hallway, where a burning table had fallen through in the collapse. Chase had never been more grateful that House had the first apartment in the hallway. He had also never been more infuriated that House had no spare key under the mat or on top of the door frame.

Luckily, the door was not dead-bolted. He had the presence of mind to pull out his hospital ID badge and jiggle the lock, but it wouldn't open. Chase worked in a panicked frenzy, wiggling the card as his heart raced and sweat poured down his face. He had to get the door open, he had to get this to work, he had to, had to, had to—

BANG!

Chase jumped as another portion of the ceiling gave way, about six feet from where he was crouched, and the card fell to the floor. He picked it up, but as his head came up, his nostrils were assaulted with the tangy smell of smoke. Coughing, he lowered his head as tears began to fall down his face from his stinging eyeballs. For the second time, he thought of turning back and waiting for the firemen to return.

"No," he whispered, his voice throaty from the smoke he'd just inhaled. "House needs me."

The words filled him with a steely resolve, and brought the ID badge into the door crack again, doing his best not to breath in too much of the smoke. He began coughing after a few seconds, but he shut his eyes and continued to work away. And then finally, _finally_, the lock clicked open and the door swung open.

Chase didn't dare raise his head up higher than it was for fear of inhaling more smoke, but he cracked his eyes open. Though the tears that blurred his vision, Chase was able to see the inside of House's apartment. There was nobody in the living room, but then, if House had gone to sleep he was most likely in his bedroom.

Moving in, Chase was unable to find any of the fire. None of ceiling had broken through, and there was no smoke pouring through the ventilation grates. The only smoke in here was from the hallway, and it was quickly filling the room. He stepped through the living room and past the piano, not stopping until he reached the bedroom door, which was shut.

He put his hand on the knob, but jerked it away when he discovered that it was hot.

Right away, all of the Fire Safety lessons came rushing back to him, the ones that he'd been taught beginning at age three up until he'd gone off to college. _First, check the door—if it's warm, then there's a fire on the other side. You have to go out the window instead._ Chase glanced at the window, but he wasn't looking to escape. Right now all he was looking to do was rescue House.

He used the sleeve of his shirt to open the door, which took away most of the heat. Chase pushed the door open, almost afraid of what he would find behind it. The door went open, displaying the bedroom, and he realized what had happened before he'd opened the door more than a foot.

Smoke hung thickly about the room, and a section of the ceiling about a meter square had fallen through, and the fire had only just begun to eat away at the carpet. By the time the door was fully open, the sight of House laying on his bed was almost unsurprising. The smoke had gotten through and kept him from waking up, slowly suffocating him into the sleep that he was in now.

"House!" Chase shouted, his vocal cords tearing from all the smoke that he'd inhaled. He heard sirens blaring in the distance, and sparks jumped and danced around him, but the only thing that he saw was House, lying helpless and unguarded on the bed. How many times had he seen him sprawled out like that, the lines on his face gone and the creases around the corners of his mouth nonexistent? How long had he lain there, just watching the older man's deep, even breathing until it lulled him back to sleep? Had he ever imagined that the sight of House laying on his bed might be one of the worst in his life?

But this time, House might not wake up. He was sleeping, but he wouldn't be for very long if Chase didn't get him out of here.

"House!" Chase shouted again, crossing the room and avoiding the flames that were licking away at the burned piece of ceiling. He shook House, gently at first, but with vigor once House did not respond. "House! Come on, dammit, wake up!"

House's body flopped about under his shakes like a fish.

"Shit," he swore, letting up for a moment to look around the room. There were no windows, no other way out other than the door that led back out into the fire. Chase set his jaw and picked up House's limp body, muscles straining under the dead weight.

Carrying a half-dead body, he stepped over the pile of fallen ceiling, feeling a more intense panic now that he had House—his life was literally in his hands, now. The responsibility of this, on top of the weight of the body, threatened to send him to the floor, but Chase only took a step forward. As they passed over the hole in the ceiling, spark flew down on them, and Chase shook his head furiously.

Once he was out of the bedroom, it became apparent that the living room was no longer as strong as it had been two minutes ago. A large portion of the floor above had fallen through, flames going with it. The path to the door was completely blocked; even without House in his arms, Chase wouldn't have been able to make it out. This left only the picture window.

_You have to go out the window instead..._

He had to open the window... but there was no way that he would be able to open the huge window with assistance—hell, he didn't even know _how_ to open it. Chase had to break the window open, and to do that, he had to lay House down to go get something heavy. Reluctantly, he searched the room for something to break it with, not wanting to let House go just yet. No... no... there! The little table next to the sofa...

BOOM!

An earth-shattering crash made him cringe, and Chase dropped down to the ground and leaned over House's prone body, waiting for the heavy ceiling beams to come and crush him.

But instead, cold air rushed towards him, biting his cheeks and stinging his hands. The thick smoke around his seemed to disappear, and Chase looked up to see that a firefighter had broken through the picture window for him. He spotted Chase immediately, and hurried over to them.

"He's alive!" Chase shouted, struggling to pick House up once more. "You've got to take him, he fell asleep! Please! He needs an oxygen mask and—"

"What the hell, buddy?" the firefighter said through the mask. "You some kinda doctor or something?"

"Yeah," Chase said heavily, finally managing to stand up with House. A rush of dizziness assaulted him, though, and he waved in his stance. "Please, you've got to..." The smoke was clogging his throat, and the world darkened for a moment. "Take him..."

The firefighter had no sooner taken House out of Chase's arms when Chase felt the floor collapse, and he was falling... falling down, into a dark abyss...


	2. Hero of the Day

**Author's Notes: **Ah... here we are at chapter two. Not as action filled, more of a transition chapter, but I promise that the next one will be full of drama (actually, it's where we really get into the plot). This story really seemed to hit off, so I'm hoping that it will maintain its momentum until the very end. By the way, in case anyone hasn't figured this out, the titles come from various Metallica songs, so I don't hold any claim to them.

**Us And Them**

**Chapter 2  
****_(Hero of the Day)_  
**

Chase came around after the ambulance carrying House had left. He didn't know this, though, and as soon as the world came into focus, he wondered where the hell he was. People were shouting, water was spraying somewhere, he was sitting on an EMT bed in an ambulance... what had happened? He looked around blearily, taking in the scene of people talking and taking pictures and standing on top toe to get a better look at the spectacle, whatever it was.

"Look who's come round," said an EMT, appearing in the doors with a smirk on his face. "It's Mr. Incredible and his amazing fire-battling powers."

"What?" Chase said, and then the confusion suddenly cleared, and he felt as if he'd been struck by a lightning bolt as he remembered the fire. "What happened?" he demanded. "Where's House?"

"Hey, hey, hey," the EMT said with an easy laugh, hopping up into the ambulance and giving Chase a gentle push back down onto the stretcher. "Take it easy."

Chase sat, but glared up at the man angrily. "Where's House?"

"The fellow you went gallivanting after?" At Chase's stony nod, the EMT continued. "He got sent to the hospital. Suppose it was fortunate that you went in there after all—another minute or two he would have been looking worse than my wife's steak!"

Chase scowled at the EMT as he chuckled at his own joke. "He's going to be all right, then?"

"Yeah, sure," the EMT said. He suddenly lost his jovial manner and stopped to frown at Chase. "He's real important to you, right? What, your brother or something?"

"No," Chase said shortly. "He's my..." Words failed him as his throat closed up as he realized just how close he'd come to loosing House today. His vision blurred with unshed tears, but Chase dashed them away frantically. "My..." The emotions welled up inside of him, and he was barely able to control himself. After a few seconds of swallowing, he was finally all right to talk. "I need to see him."

"Okay," the EMT said. "We'll get you over to the hospital as soon as we can."

"No," Chase said, standing up unsteadily. "I can drive there."

"I can't let you leave," the EMT reminded him with a grin.

"I'm fine," Chase insisted. When the EMT moved to push him back down to the stretched, he shook his head. "How much do they pay you?"

"Not enough," the EMT said. "Especially to deal with people like—"

"Two thousand," Chase said quickly. "I'll give you two thousand dollars to let me go."

"Right," the EMT said, but Chase saw his face flash briefly.

"I swear it," Chase said. Later on, he would realize that the amount was completely unnecessary—a thousand would have done the job—but the only thing that he was presently thinking of was getting to the hospital to see House. Part of him was still reeling at how stupid he'd been, charging into a burning building to save House... and by some miracle, managing to do it and escape with only excessive smoke inhalation. It had been worth it, too; the EMT had said that House would have died if he hadn't gone in there.

"Yeah, buddy, and I grow potatoes in my ears," the EMT said with a derisive snort. "Sit down, I'll go hook you up with an oxygen mask. Keep it on for about—"

"Listen," Chase said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Two thousand, and I ran away before you could get to me. _Please_."

"And you got two grand sitting in your wallet? Lord, you're even dumber than I thought." The EMT was watching Chase flip through his wallet.

"I'm a doctor," Chase said by way of explanation. "Here." He shoved a fistful of bills into the man's hands.

"But—"

Chase didn't stay to hear the man's protest, and jumped out of the ambulance. As he landed, his head began to spin wildly and throb, nausea rising up in him, and Chase figured that he must have hit his head when he passed out. Holding the area above his right ear where it hurt the most, he pushed his way through the crowd of people to get to his car. His stomach gave a sickening swoop as he saw what remained of House's apartment. The image of a burned and blackened House filled his head. _That could have been House..._ Somebody accidentally bumped into him and brought him back to reality.

"House is fine," Chase told himself. "They'll just keep him on oxygen for a while. House is fine."

The exhaustion from this morning had been forgotten in the rush of panic and fire, and Chase might not have even remembered it at all if he hadn't caught sight of his face in the rearview mirror while parking his car at the hospital. He was still pale, and there were faint, dark circles around his eyes from the lack of sleep—but that was just the pre-fire damage. Now his face was streaked with soot and there were a dozen tiny cuts marking his face, as well as a few bruises that had begun to swell. Chase couldn't imagine that the rest of him looked any better...

He hoped he wouldn't run into Cameron.

As Chase walked up the pathway to the hospital, he went to his wallet to get his hospital ID badge, which would allow him access to House while he was still in the Emergency Room... but it wasn't there. It was a moment before he remembered that he'd used it to open House's apartment door, and had thrown it to the floor in his haste to get to House.

"Great," he muttered.

In the Emergency Room, a triage nurse zeroed in on him as if she had a radar hidden behind her back. Chase recognized her from last night shift... she was one who had worked with him to stabilize a premature baby boy, named Cooper. They hadn't exchanged names after the event, but she clearly didn't know who he was now that his face had been through a fire. 

"Sir?" she said, approaching him with the typical forms that new ER patients were asked to fill out. "Can I help you?"

"Hi," Chase said, "You probably don't remember me, but I worked with you last night—I'm Dr. Chase. I need to see Dr. House."

The nurse narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I don't remember you. Show me your ID, and then we'll see."

"I, uh, kind of lost it. But look," Chase said impatiently, "I really need to see him."

"You lost it," the nurse said with a doubtful expression on her face. "Okay. Well, either way, you need to be looked at—"

"I've already been looked at!" Chase snapped. He took a breath, trying to calm down. "I was at the scene where Dr. House's apartment burned down. The EMTs looked me over and cleared me."

"They wouldn't clear you! You look like you just came out on the loosing end of a fight with a land mine. Just fill out these—"

"Chase? Oh my God, Chase! What happened?" Cameron suddenly appeared, unintentionally bumping the nurse out of the way in her fit of concern. Her eyes went wide as she took in his appearance, and her hands went up to his face.

"I'm fine," Chase said as he swatted the caring hands away. "Have you heard anything about House?"

At the mention of their boss, Cameron's demeanor suddenly changed. It was slight, but Chase was so used to it by now that he noticed it even though no one else might have. She was remembering what she'd seen, what she'd found out those three weeks ago, and fighting the same mental battle that had been going on ever since. "Kind of." Her eyes no longer looked as directly into Chase's as they had before. "They said that he was in a fire, inhaled too much smoke."

"Where is he?" Chase asked, trying to get Cameron to look him in the eye again. She was determined to keep away from his gaze, fixing her stare down to the floor. "Cameron, please."

"They brought him in about ten minutes ago. He's still unconscious, and the only thing they can do is keep him on oxygen and wait until his saturation goes up," Cameron said quietly with a small sigh. Chase could almost see her mind working, gathering up threads of courage until it swirled together into a determination that made her look up from the floor.

"He's not awake, then?" Chase met her eyes, at long last.

Cameron shook her head slightly. "No."

"Okay," Chase said, feeling the fear the he'd pushed to the back of his mind begin to dissipate. House would be fine...

"Were you in the fire, too?" Cameron sounded reluctant to ask, no doubt because of the implications that would arise if Chase said 'yes'. "You look like you were."

"I showed up after the building caught fire and went in to go get House," Chase muttered. This time it was he who broke eye contact—it was somewhat embarrassing to recount his rash decision.

"That was _you_?"

Chase winced. "Which room is House in?"

Cameron didn't appear to hear him. "They said that some moron went in there to get him, but of all people... _Why_? How could you _do_ something so mindless?"

"Because I l—" Chase stopped himself. "Because I care about him."

Cameron closed her eyes, and Chase knew that she was struggling in her wrestling match against the mental voice that was screaming how wrong this was. There was some part of him that desperately wished that she would just accept it and stop avoiding him and House, but there was a smaller part that attempted to claim that it didn't _matter_ what Cameron thought of his relationships... obviously, this was the rational side of him. The small, quiet, and often-ignored rational side of him.

"Which room is he in?" Chase asked her again.

"Second floor, 279," Cameron said softly, and her eyes opened. For a second, Chase thought that she was going to say more, but then her eyes went down to the floor, and he knew that she'd lost her inner battle.

He suppressed a sigh. "Thanks."

* * *

Room 279 was your typical hospital room: beige walls, watercolor artwork, and a dinky little bed with barely enough room to curl up on. This didn't make much of a difference to House, because he could never curl up properly due to his leg anyway. He had never said this, but Chase had gleaned it easily enough. Despite all of the mystery that House delighted in surrounding himself in, once you got past the initial wave of fog, he was a very easy man to understand—the problem laid with _working_ with what hid underneath the surface. Chase got the feeling that House's ex-girlfriend, Stacy, had understood him for the most part, but hadn't been able to deal with it. 

But right now, Chase didn't know how to deal with an unconscious House. Since the start of their relationship, House had been the commanding one - he'd been the one to initiate the first kiss. He'd been the one to override Chase's DNR papers and to convince him that liking another man was not some godawful sin. But now that Chase was here, the one who had to take charge and help House, he was feeling slightly lost.

House looked a sight better than him. His face hadn't been nearly as exposed as Chase's had been, because he'd only really been in the fire for the minute that Chase had taken to get him from the bedroom to the firefighter, so there was a lack of soot and ash. He had also not stayed up all last night, so his eyes were not baggy and his skin had a normal healthy tone to it. However, his jaw had an angry red slash running down the side of it, that looked as if it might scar when it healed... while Chase had only tiny little cuts.

"You know what?" Chase said into the silence of the room. "You're going to use this as an excuse for an increase in your Vicodin intake. I know you would."

House continued to lay in complete oblivion, unaware of Chase's speculations.

"Fine, be that way," Chase huffed with a playful grin, trying to ignore the part of his brain that was reminding him that House couldn't hear a word that he was saying. He continued on, pretending that House could hear him speak. "I'll be here until you wake up. And then when you do, I swear I won't leave until you're completely better."

Again, House did not make any sign that he'd heard Chase's promise, and continued to sleep.

Chase crumpled, feeling the energy leave him so fast that he felt like someone had knocked him on the head. The charade that he was actually talking to House vanished, and the parlor trick his brain had created was gone in the blink of an eye. He might as well be talking to the walls, for they would respond as much as House could at the moment.

The fact that he hadn't slept in well over 24 hours suddenly slammed into him like a freight train, and Chase felt the weariness immediately. His muscles ached, his face was burning, and every breath felt as if it was a cheese grater upon his throat. The two seconds it took for him to pull his chair closer and lay his head down on House's chest felt like an eternity, eons suspended in a limbo between exhaustion and pain. But then he closed his eyes, and a dark world descended upon his mind.

And the two men slept, dead to the world and the trials that awaited them tomorrow.


	3. Bleeding Me

**Author's Notes: **Hello all! Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it's all very appreciated. This chapter is definitely where things begin to pick up... I hope you'll all forgive me for what's about to happen. Also, I'm going camping with my little brither's Boy Scout Troop, so review responses probably won't happen until at least Sunday... so don't feel insulted, please!**  
**

**Us And Them**

** Chapter 3  
****_(Bleeding Me)_  
**

Chase woke up to someone slapping him on the head.

"What the—"

"Get up! I was not made to serve as your pillow or your bed."

Chase groaned, wondering who was bothering him, and what the hell they were talking about. He was sleeping, what did they care if he was sleeping on a bed or a pillow? Morons. He wanted to sleep...

"Dammit, Chase, I'm going to dump my pitcher of ice on your head."

At this threat, Chase opened his eyes, and was surprised to find his eyes staring into absolute darkness. His alarm usually didn't wake him up until seven, and by then the sun had risen... maybe he'd forgotten about the time change—it wouldn't be the first time that he'd done it. Why was it so dark? Had he fallen asleep on the couch again?

"Dark," he mumbled, blinking. Where was he? This place didn't look at all familiar... but that might have just been because it was too dark to see anything.

"Very cleverly deduced, Sherlock."

He knew that voice... "House?"

"Again, very clev—"

"House!" Chase shouted as he suddenly remembered everything that had happened. House was awake, he'd fallen asleep on top of him, and it must have been nighttime. He'd been asleep for over twelve hours...

"You aren't going to say my name a third time, are you?"

"No," Chase said, gaining control over his racing heart. "I—how are you feeling?"

"How should I be feeling?" House challenged, and Chase suddenly realized that House had no idea that his apartment had burned down. He'd just fallen asleep last night had just woken up in the hospital... it was a miracle that House was being so patient and waiting until Chase was over his shock to ask him why he was in the hospital.

He wasn't sure what to say. Should he tell House? Should he go get another doctor to break the news?

"_Hello?_" House asked, poking Chase's head.

"Um..." Chase faltered.

House suddenly paused, and Chase could hear him sniffing.

"Are the oxygen tubes too tight?" he asked, wondering what House doing.

"No. You smell... like shit. Smoke, burned rubber and wood." Chase smelled the air, and was surprised to notice that he did, indeed, smell like that. He hadn't even noticed it until House pointed it out—weird. "Why?"

"House," Chase said slowly, knowing that he had to break the news to House now. "Your apartment... there was a fire. You were asleep and inhaled too much smoke; you were rescued just before the building collapsed." Chase decided to gloss over the fact that he had been the one doing the rescuing.

House was silent.

"I'm sorry," Chase apologized, though he knew that the last thing on House's mind was the possessions that had been burned.

"Why were you there?" House asked him.

"I worked night shift in NICU last night and I was too tired to drive all the way home. I was going to crash at your place, but when I got there the building was on fire," Chase said. He hoped that this story would suffice until he worked up the guts to tell House the full story. _And when will that be? You've got to tell him before someone else tells him..._ Chase ignored the nasty voice that spoke in the back of his mind.

"You were going to come over my apartment? Did the 'No Vacancy' sign blow out?"

"How long have you been awake?" Chase countered, knowing House wouldn't have truly minded if he'd stayed on his couch. It was just House reacting to the fact that he'd almost died, to the fact that everything he'd owned had been lost.

"Not very long. The fact that there was a head on my chest kind of helped," House sniped.

Chase grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I hadn't gotten a chance to sleep in between getting off my shift and you nearly dying."

"You wanna get the lights? I wanna see this room that I'm going to be stuck in for the next few days," House said as if he were addressing a butler.

"You won't be in here for days," Chase told him, but he stood up nonetheless. He clumsily made his way across the room, but misjudged where the wall would be and slammed into it, and his head exploded in pain.

House must have heard his gasp of pain, because the next words he heard were, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Chase said, and now that the initial wave of pain had passed, he found himself laughing. "I just ran into the wall."

House snorted. "Sometimes I wonder how you got through med school..."

"With plenty of worship sessions to the god of caffeine," Chase quipped as he finally found the light switch. He closed his eyes and flicked it on, and then slowly opened his eyes so that they would have time to adjust to the dramatic light change. It took a few seconds, but when he'd finally gotten used to the stark fluorescent lights, he turned around.

"God _damn_," House murmured as Chase turned around.

Chase froze and he suddenly remembered his soot-covered, cut up and bruised face that were telltale signs he'd been in the fire along with House. He was going to have to explain what he'd done now and face House's wrath at his stupid decision... he tried not to cringe under the piercing blue eyes that were scanning him like a radar gun.

"I can explain," Chase tried meekly, hoping to start off on the right foot.

"Yes," House said after a moment. "That would be nice."

"I, uh, I came when your apartment was already burning, but the firefighters hadn't arrived yet. Someone said that you were still in there, and you know how slow the fire department is..." Chase couldn't look at House while his spoke, and instead stared down at his hands and waited for House to start yelling at him for his stupidity.

"You went into a burning building, by yourself, just to get me?" House asked. Any emotions in his voice were indiscernible.

Chase was surprised that House was stating the obvious—a rarity. "Yes," he said. "They told me later that if I hadn't, you wouldn't have made it."

"You're an idiot," House said. This time, there was definite anger in his voice. "You're a damn _idiot_. What the hell were you thinking?"

"About you!" Chase dared to fire back, feeling defensive now that the wait had passed. "I saved your life, and you think that you have the right to sit there and tell me I'm stupid? _You're _ the idiot."

"Just because 'stupidity' gets reclassified as 'bravery' if you survive does _not_ mean that the actions were any less moronic," House hissed, his eyes narrowing. "I am not worth dying over!"

"Why should that be your decision?" Chase demanded. "If I want to place your life above mine, then I'll damn well do it! That's _my_ choice, and you have no say in it."

"If it's _my_ life that we're talking about, then I do!" House shouted, his eyes flashing.

"You're right! It is your life we're talking about. Your life, which I _saved_! What does it matter how I did it?" Chase asked him, frustration piling up inside of him as he saw House's jaw set stubbornly, meaning that he was going to keep their battle going.

"Of course it matters!" House yelled. "I don't want—" But then he stopped suddenly, choking. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened, gasping for air that he couldn't get; the heart monitor began beeping wildly while House clawed at the air, as if he thought he could grab the oxygen out of it and bring it to his mouth.

For an instant, Chase could only stand there and stare at House while he choked, but the intense beeping of the heart monitor made him snap back to reality. He debated between getting a sedative and just trying to talk House through the asphyxiation... House would hate to be sedated and lose the argument because he'd simply choked. So instead of going to the drawers where the syringes were, he went to House and gripped one of his flailing hands and squeezed it hard.

"House," Chase said loudly, trying to catch the older man's attention. "House!"

House finally seemed to hear him, and his blue eyes began roving around, searching for the source of the voice. His face had gone very pale from the lack of oxygen, but Chase was relieved that the skin had at least not taken on a bluish tinge yet.

"House, listen to me," Chase said, increasing the volume of his voice to try to calm him down. "I know you can't breath, but you have to calm down. Lay still and listen to me, because otherwise I'll have to sedate you—I don't want to do that."

If anything, his words served to make House even more panicked. The heart rate sped up until it had nearly doubled, and Chase realized that he was going to have to sedate him before it caused serious brain damage. He gave House's hand a final squeeze and then stood up to get a syringe.

When House saw it his eyes widened even more, if it was possible.

"It's okay," he told him as he injected it into the side catheter. Immediately, House began to relax and the beeping of the heart monitor slowed down significantly. Chase watched as House's body go slack, and his eyes became unfocused as the sedative kicked in, and then they finally shut. A steady, regular beeping sounded in the background, distantly, and the faint sound of House's breathing slowly returned to the room, along with the color in his face. Chase let a breath of relief fly from his lips, before he collapsed into the chair. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he'd saved House's life.

* * *

When Chase first turned on the water, it hit his face like a thousand stinging pellets, and he switched off the water and jumped back with a curse. The second time, he was prepared for it and let his face burn under the warm water. His hands went up to his face, and he scrubbed at the soot and felt it run down his face in little rivers through the stubble that had yet to be shaved, and off of his jaw. After a few moments under the shower, the burning sensation faded and Chase just stood there with his eyes closed and let the water run down over his body. 

He felt slightly guilty that he'd left House alone in the room... but then again, he was unconscious. It wasn't as if House actually knew that he was alone. Chase wasn't going to take three hours in the shower; he'd be back before the sedative wore off.

The fire had become a distant memory, faded and unimportant as he let the hot water dispel all of the pain and terror and confusion that had been spinning in his head for so long. He had no idea where everything would go from here. What would House do, now that his apartment was a pile of rubble and ash? Chase's first instinct was to open up his doors to House, but what would happen if he did? He could bet, just from his knowledge of House's personality and watching Wilson when he'd temporarily moved in with House, that sharing a living space was not something that House did very well. It could be the end of their relationship... and Chase didn't want that to happen.

Finally, he shut off the water and used a towel to dry himself off. He was the only one in the showers, for all the interns had come in about an hour ago and the attendings wouldn't be here for at least a half an hour. Chase glanced at the pile of ash-covered, smelly clothes that he'd peeled off before his shower, and then he looked over to the new set of clothes that he stored in his locker for times just like... well, not times _just_ like this. But similar times.

Unfortunately, the clothes were more casual than dressy... but he was going to convince Cuddy to let him have the day off, anyways. So he slipped into the new pair of jeans and the black 'Journey' t-shirt that he'd gotten from a concert in college, but was forced to wear his tennis shoes from yesterday, which still held dirt and were a little melted in places.

Chase left his hair dripping wet instead of towel-drying it because he was anxious to get back to House, and various nurses stared at him as he walked back to House's room. A smirk danced on his lips as they did so, wondering what the expressions on their faces would be like if they knew that he was already in a relationship... with another man, no less. The smirk widened.

When he opened the door to House's room, he was surprised to see House sitting up and eating a tray of hospital-issued breakfast. A swarm of guilt in his stomach made him bite his lip and look down.

"Ah, the benevolent god has returned," House said around a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm sorry," Chase apologized. "I went to go take a shower—"

"Much better," House said approvingly.

"—and I didn't think that you would be woken up while I was gone."

"Mm," House said with a pensive nod. "The interns this year really suck at pre-rounds."

Chase was silent for a moment, standing in the doorway, and then he ventured inside of the room. "I'm going to ask Cuddy for the day off," he said as he sat down in the chair, the one that he'd spent the day sleeping in.

"Why?" House asked him.

"To stay with you," Chase said with a hesitant grin, wondering why House was questioning this. "Hospital food sucks, and the nurses are even worse. I know how you get along with people."

"No," House said with a frown. "Go to work. I'm fine."

Chase frowned back, surprised. "Why? It'll better than listening to Cameron snivel about you."

"Because," House said impatiently, "you have no reason to be here."

"What?" Chase said, anger entering his voice. "What are you _talking_ about? I have every reason to be here!"

"I don't want you here."

The words cut Chase, deeply into the bond of trust that he and House had formed. He tried not to show it on his face, and let it harden into anger as he opened his mouth to retaliate. "You don't want me here? I just saved your damn _life_, and now you can't even stand to see me? And what about the past month? Are you just going to dismiss that, too? All those times we—"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Just because you saved my life doesn't mean that I owe you a life-debt! You can't hold that over my head when I didn't even _ask_ to be saved," House said, his eyes flashing. "Now get out, or I'll call the nurse."

"You don't mean that," Chase said softly, not daring to speak louder for fear of what his voice might betray.

House, in reply, reached over and pushed the red Nurse Call button.

Chase stared at him for a long moment, the red button flashing in the corner of his eye, but he didn't even register it. He couldn't understand why House was doing this, why the sudden rejection... it didn't make sense, any of it. House had been fine last night, in the darkness... he'd even been fine for the first part of this conversation. What had gone wrong?

"Is everything all right in here?"

Chase turned around and saw the nurse standing in the doorway, as he had been only minutes ago. "No," he said coldly as he stood up. "I was just leaving." He left the room, brushing past the nurse without a backwards glance.


	4. Shoot Me Again

**Author's Notes: **Hello again! A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, your comments are what makes my day. In this chapter, I had a lot of fun with Chase's character... he's gotten a little tired of being pushed around, and now he's pushing back. This was one of the main reasons that I wanted to write this fic - all the others in this series had featured a rather dominant House and a kinda submissive Chase, and I wanted write one in which allowed Chase the higher ground. Lots of tension, lots of drama, and we finally see Wilson and Foreman!

**Us And Them**

**Chapter 4  
_(Shoot Me Again)_  
**

As Chase entered the conference room, Foreman and Cameron both looked up. Cameron looked at him confusedly as Chase walked over to the coffee pot, while Foreman's face split into a grin.

"What?" Chase snapped at Foreman, wondering if he'd heard it from Cameron... but then again, Cameron didn't know either.

Foreman's grin faded a little. "Nothing. I just didn't peg you as the 'Journey' type."

Chase stopped, and then he remembered that he was wearing his black 'Journey' t-shirt, and his face colored. "Oh. Sorry..."

"What's up?" Foreman asked him, watching Chase look around for the creamer. "It's in the cabinet," he told him.

Chase opened up the cabinet and found the creamer sitting in there, the lid still open, and poured it into his cup of coffee. "Thanks."

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked him with a concerned frown on her face. She hadn't missed the fact that Chase had avoided Foreman's question, and was now studying Chase in hopes of catching a hint of why he'd snapped.

"Nothing," Chase said shortly. He looked around and saw that the whiteboard, instead of being covered with symptoms or diagnosis ideas or the little stick figures that he would sometimes draw when he was bored without his book of crossword puzzles, was blank. On Friday, they'd left without a clear diagnosis for their patient, and the board had been littered with theories and charts, in the brand new orange marker that House had gotten... but now it was blank. Which could only have been for one reason...

"Chase?" Chase turned to face Cameron. "Did something happen between you and—"

"It's none of your business," Chase said harshly, and he couldn't help but feel a little guilty when he saw the hurt look on Cameron's face... but there was nothing for it, now. He'd said it, and it was done.

"Hey, man, get the stick out of your ass. We didn't do anything," Foreman told him, sounding agitated.

Chase let out a breath, trying not to get angry at Foreman. He was being a right bastard and he knew it, but the fight with House had left him spinning and broken and it was taking most of his effort to not start screaming right now. But Foreman was still right; he had no qualms with either Cameron or Foreman, and they didn't deserve to have his frustration taken out on them.

"Why did you wipe the whiteboard?" he asked in a controlled voice, settling for a neutral subject to start off on.

"We solved the case," Cameron answered. She turned around to look, as if she had to make sure that it had, indeed, been erased. "It was lupus."

Chase felt surprise temporarily block out the rest of his emotions. "It was _what_?"

"It was lupus," Foreman echoed.

"It's never lupus," Chase said incredulously.

"It was this time," Cameron said with a small grin. "We solved it around noon yesterday."

"Unbelievable," Chase said, sitting back while his mind went over the symptoms, the clues that they'd had along the way... it only faintly resembled lupus, but if that was the diagnosis, then that was it. He was about to ask if there had been any new symptoms that had led them to this conclusion, when the sound of the door opening made him pause and turn around, half expecting to see House standing there.

But it was not House. It was Wilson, standing in the doorway with his hair tousled in a way that made Chase wonder just how many times he'd run his hand through it in the past ten minutes.

"Chase," he said, locking onto the blonde with surprise embellishing his features. "You look better."

Foreman looked away from Wilson to stare at Chase, no doubt wondering what Wilson was talking about. Chase tried to ignore him as he replied, but he felt the rise of uneasiness as his mind screamed to him that Foreman was watching him, _staring_ at him and searching for a sign that would betray him.

"I—thanks," Chase said, deciding to leave it at that. House had never been very clear on whether or not he'd told Wilson of their relationship, and Chase had just assumed that Wilson had figured it out at some point. Wilson wasn't a stupid man, and House had never been the type to give a hoot about other people's thoughts of him.

"I saw you earlier," Wilson said with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "In House's room. I can't imagine House was very happy when he woke up."

Chase shook his head, a nervous smile coming onto his face. Either Wilson had no idea that Foreman was clueless about the office romance, or he had been completely oblivious this past month, and honestly had no idea why Chase would feel comfortable laying his head down on House's chest. Whichever way he looked at it, the situation was far from desirable... this was _not_ how he would chose for Foreman to learn of his relationship with House, especially now that they were on such rocky ground.

"Have you been over to see his apartment?" Chase asked, trying to subtly draw the conversation away from him.

"Yeah," Wilson said. His hand went through his hair, and Chase was willing to bet that it hadn't been less than the tenth time today that he'd done so. "Completely gone. The piano, his spare cane, all those books—he had an original-print copy of _The Chronicles of Narnia_, signed by C. S. Lewis back in 1950; there's only eight of those left in the world. And now it's gone..." Wilson's hand went through his hair once more, and when he lowered it, he shook his head. "Just amazing."

Chase nodded absently, feeling a little guilty for not giving the weight of what had happened his full attention, but his first reaction was relief; relief that the conversation had been taken away from him. Luckily, Cameron was too busy looking sympathetic and Foreman was too busy attempting to look sympathetic (he was most likely trying to _remember_ how to look sympathetic) to notice.

It was silent for another minute or two, and then Wilson finally sighed.

"Well, I've got to get back to work. Get yourselves a new case," he said before turning around to leave.

Chase was left to wonder if Wilson really knew about him and House. He'd always thought so—after all, Wilson had been friends with House longer than anyone else he'd ever heard of—and House had never discouraged him from thinking so when he asked. But then again, he'd never exactly _encouraged_ the idea that Wilson was aware of things. And judging by the way Wilson had just acted, he couldn't have informed; he wouldn't have been crass enough to ask such a question in front of Foreman.

But what _was_ the big deal about Foreman knowing? On a regular basis, Foreman proved that he really didn't care about his colleagues' personal lives; the fact that he and House were together shouldn't have been so different. Was he _ashamed_ to admit it?

No. No, he wasn't ashamed—House had taught him _that_ lesson within the first week... it was something else. Maybe it was simply the fact that he didn't think Foreman needed to know about his personal life. Chase had always been a private person, and his job was the last place on earth that he would want to start admitting his deepest secrets. That had to be it.

But shame... it would explain House's actions extremely well, Chase realized. The argument... it hadn't really started until Chase suggested that he spend time with House while he was in the hospital. Up until now, their relationship had stayed at home and at a few local bars and movie theaters, and there had never been a real reason to display it at work. But when Chase had suggested that he stay with him in a place where they would be recognized, House had rejected the idea vehemently... and there was only one explanation for it all.

House was ashamed of him.

* * *

This conclusion was the only one that made sense, and that was what Chase pressed on with for several days, the hurt burning into anger as the hours passed. He did not go to see House after he was discharged two days after the fire, and heard later on that House was staying at a hotel. A little part of him felt guilty about this, but Chase ignored it and focused on the words that House had thrown out at him, so carelessly, so hatefully...

"_I don't want you here."_

They still rang in his mind, fresh and cruel. Cameron suspected something had happened, but when she had tried to ask Chase about it, his control had snapped and he started yelling at her and insisting that it was none of her business. Afterwards, he'd tried to apologize, but Cameron would have none of it. Though he hadn't wanted her sympathy, the occasional warm glace wouldn't have been rejected... but now she was mad at him. Foreman didn't speak to him on a regular basis, and so now that he had no one, Chase couldn't help but want House back...

"_You have no reason to be here."_

House didn't want anyone to know that they were together... but was it because the relationship was with another man, or was it because of _Chase?_ He couldn't imagine that House would be embarrassed about whether he preferred men or women... ("_It's not unnatural, it's not freakish, and it's not against the Will of the Almighty,"_ he'd said, so long ago). That, of course, meant that it was singularly Chase that he was ashamed of.

"_I don't know what you're talking about."_

Chase was left to wonder what there was about him that would make someone want to hide a relationship... was there something wrong with him? He wasn't by any means ugly, stupid, or widely disliked... It was true that he wasn't rich. Actually, in relativity to all the other doctors here at PPTH, he was pathetically poor. But why would that matter? It wasn't as if it was common knowledge that Chase had to work night shifts in NICU to make ends meet... was it?

By the time Thursday rolled around, Chase had no idea what conclusion to draw—this was not a good thing, because Thursday was the day that House was coming back to work. Wilson was certainly happy about it. Cameron thought that he should have gotten more time off and Foreman didn't give a shit either way. Chase had considered calling in sick, but unfortunately, he couldn't afford to lose a day's worth of pay, so he forced himself to get out of bed and prepare for the confrontation.

At the hospital, Chase found the conference room empty of House, but thoroughly permeated with the smell of coffee. Chase nearly dove for it on reflex, but at the thought of drinking it, his stomach lurched with nerves, and he decided to go without instead. Foreman had the newspaper sitting before him, flipped open to the sports section.

"Can I have the crossword?" Chase asked him, flipping a pen nervously between his fingers. He tried not to fidget in his chair too much, for fear of seeming absurdly obvious.

"Yeah," Foreman said. He shuffled through the pages until he came to the Classifieds section, which he promptly removed and pushed across the table towards Chase. "It's somewhere in there."

"Thanks," Chase said as he opened the small section of the paper and found the crossword puzzle.

Ten minutes later, the pen had not stopped flipping in between his fingers, and the crossword puzzle had no blanks filled in. He was about to call it a hopeless case and attempt to focus on the Sudoku puzzle when the door opened, and his head shot up so fast he heard it crack.

House stood in the doorway, cane in one hand and a tote bag in the other. He looked fine at first glance, but Chase knew him far to well to be deceived by a 'first glance'. Looking harder, he saw that House's eyes were not as clear as they usually were, that he was leaning on his cane at a harsher angle than normal, that the gash on his jaw still looked as red and angry as it had the day he'd received it... overall, on second glance, House didn't look so great.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asked.

Chase thought that this question was rather pointless—any idiot could tell that House was_ not_ doing to great—but he didn't voice his opinion.

"Just peachy keen, thank you," House said breezily. His blue eyes searched out Cameron, and then Foreman, and then they finally landed upon Chase.

He looked down quickly, breaking the eye contact barely a second after it began. Chase could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, going too fast and too loud, and he tried to quiet his breathing, which had become shallow and quick in the brief moment of connection.

"Any new cases?"

"No," Cameron said. She rose from her seat to help House as he began to journey from the entrance to his desk, but a withering glare made her sit back down again with an abashed look on her face.

"Hm. That's not good," House said unconcernedly.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Cameron asked worriedly.

Foreman snorted from behind his newspaper.

"We need a—"

As if to agree with House, four beepers suddenly went off wildly, and the frenzied melody they created couldn't have been farther from a symphony. House reached for his almost lazily, whereas Chase, Foreman and Cameron all dove for theirs frantically. Chase read the message on the screen, and he couldn't help but feel a small cheer of victory.

"It was lupus!" Cameron said, but Chase wasn't sure who she thought was listening.

"Apparently not," House said. "Go down at see what's up and come back with a diagnosis."

The girl from last week was back in, this time because she had started hearing voices in school... making it clear that there had been a misdiagnosis. She didn't have lupus. The three stood up to go and see the patient, but House's voice made them stop.

"Oh, no you don't!" he shouted.

They all turned around to look at him. Chase's heart beat wildly, the situation so familiar that he knew what House was going to say even before the words left his mouth.

"Chase, you're staying here," House said. "We have some things to discuss."

Chase froze for a moment, remembering the last time similar words had left House's mouth, the last time they had a 'discussion' in his office while Cameron and Foreman were busy checking on a patient, and what it had led to. He didn't want that; he didn't want to be alone with House right now...

"No," Chase said coldly. "We don't have anything to discuss." He turned around and followed Cameron and Foreman out of the room, ignoring their looks of surprise as they walked down the hallway in silence.


	5. The Unforgiven

**Author's Notes: **Welcome back, everyone! Guess what? The last chapter had more reviews that all of the previous chapters - thank you so much, guys! I don't care how old this is going to sound, they really do make me feel all warm and fuzzy. This chapter... is another transition chapter. Chase expresses some more anger and avoids House some more. But I promise you a **confrontation next chapter**, so you can all look forward to that! Seriously, it's a spectacular scene (if I do say so myself...). But you'll have to accept this for now, so enjoy!

**Us And Them**

**Chapter 5  
_(The Unforgiven)_  
**

Cameron and Foreman seemed to have a silent agreement to not ask Chase what was going on between House and him; it something he was quite grateful for because if either of them had asked him, they probably would have left the hospital minus a few body parts. He knew that his words had been childish, that he shouldn't have refused and walked out like that—but Chase just couldn't bring himself to talk with House. In some obscure train of thought, he wondered if he was subconsciously wishing to punish House, to make him feel guilty. This was most odd, because consciously, he knew that if House ever were to feel guilty about something, he wouldn't show it outwardly.

Cameron hesitantly tried to bring up the subject of Anna Nicole Smith's recent death, but she gave up after learning that Foreman hadn't liked her and Chase hadn't even heard of her (until the news of her death had been plastered across the television screen, of course). So instead, they walked down to the ER in silence.

While they interviewed the patient, Chase allowed the work to consume his mind as he tried to envision new possibilities, new diagnoses, and the thoughts of House flew from his head. The girl was still insisting that she was hearing voices, and was also beginning to insist that the IV pole was a giraffe that was going to wrap its neck around her and strangle her. She was so convinced of it that five minutes after Chase, Cameron and Foreman arrived they had to sedate her before she could rip out the IV line.

"She's got to be high," Foreman said when she was out. "She was in rehab last year for ecstasy abuse... I bet she just had a relapse."

"I'll do a tox screen," Chase volunteered immediately. Cameron cast him a suspicious look, but said nothing. Foreman was not so willing to give in.

"I can do it," he said, giving Chase a look that dared him to challenge it.

"No," Chase said evenly, refusing to give ground, "You and Cameron can go up and tell House. _I'll_ do the tox screen."

Foreman stared at him. Chase stared back, unwilling to lose this battle and have to face House again. Finally, Foreman seemed to realize that he was going to get nowhere and he sighed in defeat. "Fine," he said. "Go ahead."

Chase smiled in relief, glad to know that it would be a little while longer before he would pay for what he'd said. He had no doubt that House would stick him with grunge work, because the expression on his face had been shocked when Chase refused to stay... and to be humiliated like that was not something House took lightly. But Chase was not a submissive puppy dog, and he wouldn't let House kick him and then expect him to roll over whenever he commanded.

* * *

He was down in the lab running gels when Cameron entered. Chase glanced up at her, and then quickly looked back down to the computer screen. She stopped about three feet away from him, and stood in silence for a while. He saw her mouth open and then shut three or four times, before he finally got fed up with it.

"If you've got something to say..." he started, but trailed off before his words could become too offensive.

"House..." Cameron said reluctantly. Chase paused and turned to look at her, and she licked her lips and said, "He's not in a very good mood."

Chase let out a laugh, which sounded more like a bark. "Serves him right."

"Do you really think that?" Cameron implored, taking a step closer to him.

He shrugged, feeling himself close down. "Does it matter to you?" he asked her, his voice coming out harder than he'd really intended.

"It matters to House," Cameron said patiently.

Chase slammed his palms down onto the table. "I don't _care_!"

Cameron flinched at his loud tones, but she drew in a shaky breath. "Please, Chase," she said in a pleading voice. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I wish that—"

"You _wish_," Chase said contemptuously, a sneer curling his lips. With effort, he drew it off of his face and tried to hold back his emotions. "Cameron, I'm sorry. To be frank, it's none of your business why House and I aren't speaking—it was on dumb luck that you discovered us in the first place. Please stay out of it."

Cameron was so still that for a moment, Chase wondered if he'd hit some kind of magical pause button that made the whole world stop... but then she drew in a great breath that made her chest rise and her nostrils flare. She nodded, very minutely, and then looked away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Chase was about to ask her to leave, when the results of the tox screen began to print out, and he focused his attention on the paper that was coming out. He heard Cameron come up behind him, to the side, where she could read the findings as they printed out.

"_Asmalix_?" Cameron question aloud beside him.

Chase shrugged. "Maybe they were running a sale."

* * *

Cameron went up alone to deliver the news, while Chase escaped to the NICU to work an extra hour, proving to himself how desperate he was to stay away from House. _Pathetic_... his mind catapulted, throwing the word at him over and over again. Pathetic or not, it was still better than facing House, because then he would probably find some clever way of trapping them alone together and force them to talk. He'd actually have to hear House say that he was ashamed of him, that there was something so hideously wrong with him that House couldn't bear the thought of anyone else knowing...

Yes, it was much better being pathetic.

Instead of one hour, though, Chase ended up staying for nearly three. He might have stayed there longer, too, if Foreman hadn't come down to get him with a grim expression on his face.

"We need you up in the conference room," Foreman said as Chase pressed down on the chest of a newborn, a triplet born about four hours ago with abnormally small heart valves, with his fingers.

"Could it wait a minute?" he asked in exasperation, wondering if Foreman was blind to the baby that was struggling to breathe.

"I could... I don't know if House can," Foreman said, deflecting the blame away form him in a very Foreman-like way.

"Well, he's going to have to," Chase said, applying a little more pressure into his fingers and willing the tiny body to breathe.

"Okay," Foreman said, seeming content as long as Chase was going to hold the blame if House ended up pissed that they hadn't returned more promply.

Chase worked at the baby's heart for another fifteen minutes, but it was futile. She flat-lined for nearly ten minutes before Chase would admit it, though, and it wasn't only because he wanted to save her life. When he finally let up and admitted defeat, called the time and drew the little pink blanket over her body, he looked over to Foreman.

"What do you need me for?" he asked Foreman as he left the room.

"Differential," Foreman said. "She took Asmalix and thought that it was ecstasy, but even now that it's pumped out of her she's still delusional."

"Weird," Chase said.

"Yeah. House seems to think that we screwed up the test of Lyme disease the last time around..." Foreman said.

They had arrived at the door to the conference room. Beyond it, Chase could see House talking to Cameron. He did not look any different that he had this morning, not angrier or sadder or even more tired... This was sort of reassuring to Chase, and he followed Foreman inside the conference room. It wouldn't be so bad—House wouldn't dare say anything in front of Cameron and Foreman, considering that he didn't want anyone else to know about them. As long as Cameron or Foreman remained in the room, Chase was safe.

"—makes sense with the delusions," Cameron was saying.

House nodded. "You're right. Go get an angiography."

Cameron stood up.

"You're thinking it's an... aneurysm?" Foreman tried to guess, looking surprised that House and Cameron had come to a conclusion without him.

"It makes sense," Cameron said. "If it was small enough, we could have missed it on the MRI, and the blood would affect her stamina and cause delusions, and it would eventually leak into the rest of the body... causing the blood in her lungs."

Chase nodded. "That makes sense. Which area of the brain?" he asked Cameron.

"The cerebrum," House said, and Chase looked over to him in surprise. "Left hemisphere."

"I wasn't asking you," Chase said coolly. He looked back at Cameron, who was biting her lip and looking desperate to say something. "We should go do that angiograph."

Cameron nodded, and Chase turned around and began walking towards the door. Foreman was already halfway out, and he could hear Cameron walking behind him... and he would be safe from House once again.

"You're avoiding me!" House called from the back of the room.

Chase turned around. "No, I'm not."

"You're evading me," House reiterated.

"If I was evading you, I'd be in Kentucky," Chase said dryly. Cameron was standing off to the side, watching the exchange like a tennis match.

"You're _eluding_ me," House tried again.

Chase made no reply, and instead turned around and pushed open the glass door, where Foreman awaited them outside. Cameron followed, and House was actually quiet until Cameron was halfway out the door.

"You can't avoid me forever!" he shouted.

Chase pretended that he hadn't heard him, but he knew that the words were true... he couldn't stay away from House forever.


	6. The Memory Remain

**Author's Notes: **Okay. This is officially, to date, the hardest thing that I ever written. It's been through (I'm not exagerating) eight different versions, and then this final version had to be reconstructed about four more times. So I'm very proud of this... no mean comments. Please. I labored over this thing, and it really wouldn't be fun to have it all thrown back in my face. And with that said, without further adieu, I give you Chapter 6! Enjoy!**  
**

**Us And Them**

**Chapter 6  
_(The Memory Remain)_  
**

Chase actually made it through the rest of the day without running into House again, and he decided to go home early and lose the money, because he didn't want to chance his luck, having already made it through most the day. It around seven o'clock when he stepped out into the parking lot, and the New Jersey sun had set almost two hours ago... but the lights in the parking lot managed to light it up decently. His car was cold when he sat down in it, and Chase quickly started it up, blasted the heat and thought of Australia. It was days like these that made him want to leave for his home, if not for the lack of cold then for the lack of House.

He drove through Princeton, all the way through for the half hour it took to get to his apartment, and lucked out with a parking spot that was about ten feet away from his apartment door. In a radical difference to the blustering winds that were blowing about the city, his apartment was quiet and warm. This meant that he'd accidentally left the heat on while he was gone, and would have to pay for it when his gas bill came, but at the moment he didn't really care. The warmth felt good.

Chase jumped into a pair of sweatpants, opting not to wear a shirt, and stuck a bag of microwave popcorn in the microwave, letting the buttery, salty smell fill the apartment while he pulled out the boxed DVD set of the X-Files, season three. A night of X-Files and popcorn was long-awaited after spending all the previous ones in the NICU. He'd just poured the popcorn out of the bag and into a metal bowl, where he would add extra salt and butter, when a knock sounded at his door.

Chase frowned, wondering who would knock at his apartment... well, other than House, but it wouldn't be him. House was still pissed over today, and was probably sitting in his office sulking. It could be his landlord—but all of his bills had been paid, and he wasn't harboring any secret pets or playing deafening music that would have attracted the attention of his neighbors. Who else did he have over here in the States?

"One minute," he called when the person knocked again.

Chase grabbed the remote and pressed pause, and Fox Mulder's face became frozen in its traditional frown. He set the bowl of popcorn on the armrest of the couch, and then went to the door.

House stood outside, a heavy trench coat wrapped around his tall frame. He rocked back and forth slightly as the wind pushed at him, but his eyes immediately locked onto Chase's.

Chase tried to shut the door, but House stuck his cane in the way and then used his hand to push it back open... though Chase didn't really resist.

"I told you that you couldn't avoid me," House smirked. His eyes left Chase's face and went down to his bare chest, and the smirk widened.

Chase flushed and wished that he would have had the sense to put something on before he'd answered the door. He tried to act as if it was no big deal, willing his face to return to its normal color.

"I don't want to talk," he said. This was a rather stupid thing to say, because it wasn't like the older man was going to go away simply because Chase didn't want to talk.

"I do," House said. He stepped inside of the apartment. "Is that popcorn I smell?"

"Can we just get this over with?" Chase snapped, tired of House and his antics. Their relationship was over, and he was tired of House dragging out what was no longer there.

"Sure," House said. He removed his coat and set on the back of the couch, revealing a pair of jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, letting Chase know that he'd gone to his hotel room before coming here... but was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Chase stood there stubbornly, and didn't offer an opening into the conversation. If this was the end, then he wasn't going to be the one who ended it.

House sighed and sat down on the back of the couch, bouncing his cane on the floor for a few seconds. Chase shifted uncomfortably as he waited for House to begin, and he crossed his arms over his chest. But then House finally looked away from the floor.

"I grew up on army bases," he said.

Chase nodded. "I grew up in Melbourne. Are we going to exchange our mothers' maiden names, now?"

"Dammit, Chase," House said in a frustrated tone.

"What, you want me to make this _easier_ on you?" Chase asked incredulously. "I apologize."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" House shot back, standing up and grabbing his cane. "I don't even know why you're _upset_!"

Chase was dumbfounded. "_What?_"

House stared at him, clearly not wanting to get further into this admission.

"I'm _upset_ because you're ashamed of me!" Chase said, the words tearing out of his mouth and leaving his stomach feeling strangely empty.

"You... wait, _what_?" House stared at him dumbly.

Chase stopped, feeling a little unsure of himself at House's confused stare. It was the only explanation—what else was left? "You're ashamed of me! What else am I supposed to think when you throw me out of the room, before anyone can see me?"

House's mouth was open slightly and his eyes were wide, and it was a moment before he spoke. "I'm not ashamed of you," he said unsteadily. Before he could say anything else in his defense, Chase rounded on him.

"No? The moment that someone might actually see us together, you kick me out like I'm a pile of shit! You were so afraid that someone might see us together, that someone would discover that you and I were together, that you called a damned _nurse_ to get me out of the room, instead of—I don't know, asking me!" Chase shouted. His voice had risen when he spoke and he hadn't even realized it until now, and he made an effort to quiet down before the neighbors came wandering over. "What else," he said in a strained tone, "am I supposed to think?"

"I was trying to _protect_ you," House said, and he was so caught up in the argument that the admittance didn't even make him uncomfortable, as it usually would have.

"Protect me? From _what?_" Chase demanded.

"I grew up in the military!" House shouted, advancing forward a step. "I know what it's like, and I didn't want you to have go through it!"

"Go through what?" Chase asked him, his mind reeling at the words House was throwing out.

"Maybe things were different in Australia, but here in _America_, homosexual relationships are _not_ accepted!" House said, his eyes flashing with some passion, some fire whose source Chase didn't know. "People have to put up with taunting, with hate groups, with the whole damn Catholic church just because they like other men!"

"And since when did you give a shit what other people think?" Chase asked him, hardly believing what he was hearing. "It was _you_ who forced me to get over the fact that I liked you in the first place!"

"I don't care about _me_! I could care less if half the world thinks that I'm going to burn in hell! But you..." House faltered, and the anger that had been driving him seemed to disappear. "You do care. If people saw us... dammit, Chase, you have no idea how awful it is."

"So..." Chase fumbled for words, this new revelation wiping his mind completely blank. "You... I didn't..." Then words sprang to his mind, and Chase pounced on them. "So you think that you have the right to decide things for me?"

"I... " For the first time, House seemed speechless. "No. I... don't... it was the only thing on my mind, making sure that no one..." He looked around, avoiding eye contact determinedly. "I... I'm sorry."

Chase unfolded and folded his arms several times, hating the uncomfortable atmosphere that had arisen. He had no idea what to say to House's apology—he'd never thought that he would hear House apologize. He'd been so completely unprepared for this explanation... all he'd thought about this week was how House was ashamed of him, and the anger that he allowed, even encouraged, to fester inside of him. Looking back, the explanation made sense, it made _perfect_ sense.

"I... I shouldn't... I jumped to conclusions," Chase said hesitantly. He felt like he was walking through a fog, and had no idea where to turn next.

"Yeah..." House said. "So... where... what do we do now?" He looked uncharacteristically uncertain.

"I'm sorry," Chase said suddenly, the words bursting forth before he could do anything.

House looked at him, annoyed. "Yeah, we've been over that."

"I know..." Chase said, "But you said it and I... had to say it, too."

"I'm no good at this," House said out of the blue. Chase might have said 'yeah, no kidding', but the expression on House's face was enough to keep him quiet. "What do we do? Do you avoid me for another week?" Chase flinched guiltily. "Do we just forget about it? Do we end it?"

"We're not going to end it," Chase said immediately, and then he felt himself blush for the second time that evening. "I mean... I don't want to... but if you want to, then I don't want to..."

House shook his head. "I don't."

"I'm not going to avoid you for another week," Chase said, feeling the wrench of guilt again.

"So do we just forget that this ever happened?"

Chase snorted. "Kind of hard. You don't have an apartment anymore, Cameron's going to pester me for details until China becomes a democracy, that slash on your jaw... they're going to make it kind of hard to forget about all of this."

A small grin formed on House's face. "I think it looks rather cool," he said, rubbing the area of his jaw that was going from red to pink as it scarred. "I'll tell people that I was in a gang when I was younger and I got this in a knife fight."

Chase grinned. "I'll bet that goes over real well with Cuddy."

"She wouldn't care," House said. "There isn't anything that phases her ever since I rewired all of the hospital televisions to play porn movies."

Chase shook his head, trying to imagine the scene House must have caused. There were times that he really wondered what Cuddy must have done to deserve an employee like House... maybe she'd been Stalin in her past life or something... But then he noticed that House was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

"How's that hotel you're staying at?" Chase finally asked.

"Pretty shitty," House said, his tone almost blithe. "No room service, they don't deliver the paper, and it's fifty bucks a day to rent a game station."

"You don't have to stay there, you know..." Chase offered, hesitantly looking at House.

"I don't do couches," House said instantly.

"Who said anything about couches?" Chase retorted, feeling a grin come onto his face as the uncomfortable atmosphere finally seemed to fade away.

"I hope you aren't too attached to the right side of your bed, then," House said lightly, and a smile was coming onto his face as well. "It's my favorite." He paused and sniffed the air. "Your popcorn's cold."

"Yeah, thanks to you," Chase informed him. "Now I have to go make a new bag."

"I don't mind cold popcorn," House said. "You can go make a new one, and I'll eat the cold stuff while I'm watching—is that the X-Files?"

"Yes," Chase said, preparing for an attack on his show of choice.

But House just plopped down on the couch and grabbed the bowl of cold popcorn from the armrest. "Cool."

Chase stared at him in amazement for a moment while House found the DVD remote and started playing the episode. After a moment, he sat down on the couch with House and reached for a handful of popcorn.

"Go make your new bag," House told him, holding the bowl out of his reach.

"Give me that!" Chase said, grinning despite himself.

"Why should I?" House asked him, moving it to the side as Chase nearly managed to take a swipe at it.

"Because if you don't," Chase said as he continued fruitlessly to reach the bowl, "you're going to be a very lonely man tonight."

"Mm..." House said with a nod, pretending to give this careful, slow deliberation.

Chase debated making another lunge, but then he thought of a better idea. Without any warning, he smashed his lips into House's and moved so that he was nearly straddling him, and House was so startled that he forgot about the popcorn. Chase reached around blindly, preoccupied with the kiss that House was hungrily returning, until he found the bowl. He gripped it and pulled it away from House, who was still oblivious to anything but their lips, which were still working away with no regard to oxygen.

"Ha!" he cried triumphantly, ripping himself away from House with the popcorn bowl in one hand. He was breathless after that from the kiss, and could only sit there, still on his knees and still straddling House, while he waited for the adrenaline to fade away.

"That was..." House said, out of breath himself, "a dirty trick."

"I learned from the best," Chase replied, still sounding winded even though he was beginning to breath normally. He began to get off of House, but House grabbed leg.

"I like the view," he said by way of explanation, and Chase grinned and shook his head.

"Too bad," he said. Chase rolled off of House, settling the bowl of popcorn onto his lap and focusing back on the X-Files. "Now shut up and watch the show, or there won't be an encore."


	7. Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Notes: **Well, here we are. The final chapter. This has been a lot of fun, guys, and I really appreciate everyone who left reviews for me to enjoy. Also, a very special thanks to **Demo-san **and **thevigilante15** for sticking with me for nearly the entire story. This final chapter is more like an epilogue than a real chapter, but it was fun to write and really wraps up the... fight. Misunderstanding. What ever it was.

On another note, I'd like to welcome you all to read my next story, entitled **Guilty. **The first chapter has already been posted, but it was originally a one-shot, so the first chapter doesn't show anything. Basically, it's a spin off of the House-has-a-child stories. In this one, he has a son who ran away from home at sixteen, and has since become a murderous, homeless drug addict... not a happy story. It's got a lot of action in it, so if you really liked the first chapter of this story then you'll probably love **Guilty.**

Anyways, now that I've finished throwing that out there, I hope you all enjoy the final chapter... Thank you!

* * *

**Us And Them**

**Chapter 7  
_(Nothing Else Matters)_  
**

Chase was pretty sure that House had never seen what the hospital was like at seven o'clock in the morning. He was also pretty sure that Cuddy had no idea what House looked like at seven o'clock in the morning... and judging by the look of shock that grew on her face when they passed by her, he was right. Chase had dragged House out of bed and to work early, knowing that he had to make up for the hours that he'd missed last night.

"You're going to pay for this tonight," House grumbled as they stood in the elevator, waiting for the doors to open up to the fourth floor.

"That might be hard," Chase told him, feeling a rise a smugness. "I'm working night shift in NICU again."

"_Again_? Jesus Christ, Chase!" House said, the idea of working overtime clearly a foreign thing to him. The doors opened, revealing the fourth floor, and they both stepped off.

"Hey, not all of us can work four hours a day and have extra money to buy seven bottles of Stoli," Chase said with an accusing stare as they made their way down the hallway.

"Take off tonight," House told him. "I'll cover whatever you would have made."

"House!" Chase said, feeling a little irritated and embarrassed. "I'm not a charity case!"

"Of course you're not," House said smoothly. They had arrived at the conference room, and House opened the door for Chase with a grand, exuberant bow. "But as I'm shacking up with you, I do owe you some portion of money."

Chase was about to reply, when he noticed that Foreman was sitting at the conference room table, his brown eyes wide as he stared at them.

"You let House stay at your place?" he asked, his voice disbelieving.

"Of course," House said. Chase felt an arm wrap itself around his waist and draw him backwards. "We've only secretly been lovers for the past month."

Chase groaned quietly. There was no way they were ever going to be able to break the news to Foreman if House treated the whole things as a joke. Foreman just took a sip of coffee and shook his head.

"You're nuts. Both of you," he pronounced, returning to his paper.

Chase felt House release him, and he made a beeline for the coffee pot as soon as he did so. He got out his own mug, and then turned to House, silently asking him if he wanted one too. House nodded slightly as he took off his coat and hung it up on the coat rack. Turning back around, Chase brought out House's bright red mug and filled both to the brim with coffee. He added a packet of sugar to his, but left House's black.

"Why are you here so early?" Foreman asked.

"Chase told me that if I didn't, I wouldn't be getting any nookie tonight," House said loudly as Chase handed him the cup of coffee with a silent glare. "The threat was too awful to even consider."

Foreman looked to Chase. "Man, whatever he's paying you, _it ain't worth it_."

Chase sat down and stared down at the coffee and wished that it would magically turn into rum... or whiskey... hell, he'd even settle for vodka right now. But it did not, and so he closed his eyes and pretended that it was rum that was lighting up his senses and filling him with energy instead of coffee.

"Foreman, he's not joking," Chase said, the words themselves feeling heavy. From across the room, House looked a little insulted that Chase had ruined his fun.

"He's not joking about—oh... _shit,_" Foreman muttered, staring at Chase and then glancing over to House. "You're serious?" he asked incredulously.

"No, he's really just—"

"_Yes_," Chase said, scowling at House, who grinned.

Foreman put his head in his hands. "Damn... that's just... _damn_."

"Hey, where's Cameron?" House asked suddenly, looking around as if he had somehow overlooked her presence in the room.

It was a moment before Foreman replied. "She called in sick..." His tone made it clear that he was currently wishing that he'd also called in sick.

"She already knows," Chase hurried to say, before House could make another rude proclamation.

"When did you tell her?" Foreman asked, sitting up and removing his hands from his face. Chase couldn't tell if he was insulted that Cameron had been told before him, or if he was angry with her for not saying anything.

"We didn't tell her, really," House spoke up from behind Foreman. "She kind of discovered it."

"How did she put it together?" Foreman asked, leaving the question sounding slightly rhetorical. "I had no idea, she must have..."

"She walked in on us," Chase said with a sheepish grin.

House looked as if he were about to add something, no doubt inappropriate, when the conference room door opened and he stopped. Chase swiveled around in his chair to see who it was, wondering if Cameron had decided to come into work despite being sick...

"Good morning Chase, Foreman... House?" Wilson stared at him with a completely bewildered expression. "Is there a reason you're here... on time?"

"I suppose you knew about this all along, too?" Foreman said to him grouchily.

"Knew about what?" Wilson asked, puzzled.

When Foreman turned his gaze over to Chase, he was forced to shrug, because Chase still had no idea what House had told him and what he hadn't told him. He looked to House, and Foreman followed in suit, and Wilson joined in a minute later, so that they were all staring at House. Chase was curious to see what House would say, to see if he would chicken out, if he would try to crack a joke about staring games, if he would tell Wilson to ask Chase or Foreman about it...

But House did none of those things.

"Chase and I are dating," he proclaimed baldly, settling back into his chair.

Chase could have kicked him for being so brazen about it. A little diplomacy before coming out with something like that would have been appreciated... but what was done was done. House was only being himself.

Wilson's head had immediately went to Chase, looking for confirmation, and he nodded despite the blush that was rising on his cheeks.

"And when did this happen?" Wilson asked, his voice a little faint but otherwise normal. Chase wondered if House had been with other guys before.

"Uh..." House drew a blank for a second, but then he brightened. "About a month ago."

"Does Cuddy know?" was Wilson's next question.

"I don't think so..." House said, as if the thought had just struck him.

"She doesn't," Chase put in. "Otherwise you would have been hauled down to her office for a lecture about taking advantage of your younger employees."

House grinned and nodded to Chase. "Nice."

"And why am I just hearing about this now?" Wilson asked, and his tone now sounded completely normal. In reflection, Chase would realize that it was typical of him to take everything in stride as it happened, and then maybe react later.

"Long story," House said, much to Chase's relief. The argument was still fresh in his mind, and he didn't want to hear it recounted right now, especially when he and House had just managed to patch things up last night. "Maybe I'll tell you about it later."

Wilson stared at him with raised eyebrows for a moment, and then finally said, "I'm looking forward to it."

House nodded, and he was about to say something when Wilson's pager suddenly went off. "Later!" he called as Wilson nearly ran out the door, leaving the three sitting in silence.

"Cuddy's going to pissed when she finds," Foreman said lightly, watching the other two for a reaction.

"I've been into worse," House said with a shrug.

"Whatever happened to our patient?" Chase asked as the thought occurred to him, as he had spent most of yesterday in the NICU avoiding House. "Last I heard, she had an aneurysm..."

"No aneurysm," Foreman said. He looked a little more comfortable now that they were talking about work and not who was having sex with who. "She had a tumor in her lymph nodes, causing the fever and malaise..."

"How far along was it?' Chase asked. He couldn't help but wonder what House's expression would be like if they had incorrectly diagnosed her once again and she came back next week, even though he knew that this would not be good for the patient.

"Too far," Foreman said. "She went into surgery last night, and they were going to try to remove as much of it as they could."

Chase stood up. "I'm going to go check on her—the post-op notes should be up by now."

He left the room and wandered down the hallway, opting to use the stairs instead of the elevators because he didn't feel like cramming himself in with bunches of other people and standing there, waiting for the little box to move faster... stairs were much more practical. The patient was on the second floor, so Chase pounded down the four flights of stairs and enjoyed the ringing echo that sounded up the deserted stairwell.

Coming out onto the second floor, he found himself slightly out of breath and paused for a moment to regain his composure. After a moment, Chase started off again down the hallway. A few nurses stared at him as he passed, and he grinned outright as he thought of what their faces would be like when the news of him and House finally got around the hospital. But as he reached the patient's door, the grin faded and, being mindful of the stressed and anxious family that waiting inside, was replaced by a solemn expression.

The girl hadn't woken up since her operation, and Chase spent about five minutes convincing the parents that this was completely normal and that they had nothing to worry about. He picked up her chart and flipped through the pages, skimming the notes until he found the part of the surgery that he was looking for. Overall, the surgeon had been able to remove most of the tumor and the girl would only need two or three rounds of chemo, unless the cancer proved to be resistant—a good prognosis, for the most part.

Cheered up by the fact that their patient was finally going to be healthy, Chase left the room and headed back toward the stairwell. Going up the stairs was more work than going down them, but he ignored it in favor of listening to the fantastic echoes that were reverberating off of the walls... There was something about the rhythmic sense that it gave to everything that made Chase almost zone out, just listening to the—

Chase skidded slightly as he almost ran into House.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stopping on the landing where House was standing with his back leaned against the wall comfortably. His breathing was slightly erratic from running, and it made the sentence sound less demanding than he'd intended it to be.

"How is she?"

"About as good as she's going to get," Chase said. "They got most of it out. If the tumor isn't resistant, then two or three rounds of chemo will knock it out, and then she'll be back to normal."

"Who was her surgeon?" House asked as he grabbed his cane and pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards Chase.

"McCarthy, I think," Chase said, trying to remember. He hadn't really looked, but the handwriting had looked like McCarthy's...

"No it wasn't," House said as he drew closer, causing Chase to step back before his foot would get crushed underneath House's cane. "McCarthy's in Ireland with his girlfriend."

Chase shrugged. He tried to take another step backwards, but he found himself pressed up against the railing. "Maybe it was Hashimoto, then," he said. His voice was quiet and trembled slightly as House came closer.

"Maybe," House agreed, his voice slightly husky, and then he reached out and trapped Chase with only inches separating them, placing a hand on either side of him on the railing. Chase's breath hitched. "Maybe not."

Their faces were only inches apart and Chase could feel himself shaking, and he knew that House was doing this on purpose. "Are you going to kiss me already?" he whispered, nearly whimpering.

House responded immediately, and Chase's world exploded in a blast of sensation and pleasure. He could feel House's hands move from the railing to his back, pulling him closer. The cane fell with a clatter to the floor, but Chase barely heard it as his own hands moved up to House's neck and he found his back being forced up against the metal rail, the only thing that seemed to ground him as the rest of his body was swept away in a whirlwind of heat and turbid passion and—

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, Chase found himself standing in the cold stairwell with only the dying tingle on his lips. House released him and Chase stumbled backwards, completely stunned.

"Take off tonight," House told him. "Or you won't see any more of that for a week."

"Damn you," Chase breathed, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He wanted to take the night off so bad that it was as if there was an actual fire burning inside of him, filling him with the sparks of rebellion. One night wouldn't hurt... House had even offered to pay him some portion of money for letting stay there, and that would help him... But he couldn't risk it... What if he needed the days off later on? What if he got sick, what if something happened to House again, and he couldn't make ends meet because of the money he'd lost this very night? He had to... but...

Screw it.

"All right," Chase said, shaking his head and unable to believe that he was agreeing to this. "One night."

"That's my wombat boy," House said fondly, cuffing Chase on the head gently.

A minute later, Chase found himself standing alone on the stairs, breathing hard with a grin on his face. There were times when he'd wished that he'd never left the seminary, that he'd stayed in Melbourne, that he'd signed up to work at a different hospital, that he hadn't fallen in love with House... but right now, he wouldn't trade it for the world.


	8. Sad But True

**Author's Notes: **Okay, so I know that you're all ready to string me up by my ankles and go on me like Italy on Mussolini... however, if you kill me, there might be lacking of chapters, so it wouldn't really be in your best interest. Updates will be steady with the remaining eight chapters, and all of them will be much longer than this one. Also, forgive me if the last scene seems slightly OOC, but I just felt like there should be some fluff before... well, things get bad. So, with that rather ominous worning, I welcome you to Chapter 8! Enjoy!

(Enormous thanks to my beta reader, **East-Wing-Witch**, who should be ranked up there with Anne Sullivan for the miracles she works. Worship her, people.)

* * *

**Us and Them **

**Chapter 8  
_(Sad But True)_  
**

The rest of the day seemed to drag by, for they had no new patients after their Not-Lupus patient, and House actually did his own clinic duty for a change. Chase considered going to the NICU to try to make up for the hours that he was going to miss tonight, but he had no sooner proposed the idea than he had found himself on the receiving end of a very nasty glare. Taking the hint, he'd sat back down and started a new crossword puzzle. But now, at long last, the day had ended. Slowly, agonizingly, the minute hand had crept to the 12 on the face of the clock, and as soon as it had House practically leapt out of his chair and began badgering Chase to hurry up.

"_Ouch!_" Chase yelled as House whacked him on the shin with his cane, and he glared at him while he rubbed the throbbing spot. "I could go slower, you know," he said darkly.

"I could hit harder," House returned, wiggling the cane threateningly.

Chase rolled his eyes, pulling on his coat. "All right! I'm done—happy?"

"Not yet. We're still standing here," House said, making his way to the door and a hand on the handle. He paused and drummed his fingers impatiently while Chase scrambled to get all of his papers together, and when he'd finally finished, House pushed open the door and strolled out with Chase trailing after him.

They rode down the elevator in silence, but as they walked through the lobby, a shrill voice made both House and Chase stop in their tracks.

"Dr. Chase! House!"

"What did you do?" Chase muttered out of the corner of his mouth, watching as Cuddy approached them.

"Nothing," House insisted. "She's probably just heard about—"

"I want to see both of you in my office right now," Cuddy said as she stopped in front of them. Chase could practically see the flames coming out of her nostrils as she stared at the pair, hands planted on her hips.

* * *

"So," Cuddy said, surveying the two doctors from behind her desk. She exhaled loudly. "_So_." 

For once, House seemed to sense that it would be a bad time to interject any sarcastic or insulting comments, and he kept his mouth shut. Chase was rather surprised.

"I've been hearing rumors. About the two of you." Cuddy stared at them expectantly.

Chase exchanged a glance with House, wondering if he should take the liberty of informing Cuddy, or hold back until she correctly guessed what was true and what was not amongst the rumors. At House's stoic face, he decided that it was best to keep quiet for now.

"The two of you are..." Cuddy struggled to find words, and her hands waved about in the air while she floundered. "Together?"

"We are right now," House said brightly, and Chase winced as he realized that whatever reason House had had for holding back before, it was now gone. "In fact, all three of us are together right now!"

"I didn't mean it that way," Cuddy snapped, looking irate. "I meant it like... You know, the two of you were—"

"Having sex?" House offered, and Cuddy blushed a little.

"Dating," she corrected.

"_Dating?_" House demanded, suddenly raging. "Are you asking me if I'm _gay?_ With _Chase?_" He used his cane to point at Chase, who was blushing madly at the thought of Cuddy knowing that he and House were having sex.

"House..." Chase said, trying not to sound too much like a scolding parent.

"Then they're not true?" Cuddy asked, sounding relieved.

"Hell yeah, they're true!" House shouted dramatically, and Chase thought about how it would be a really wonderful moment for the floor to swallow him up right about now.

Cuddy put a hand up to her forehead for a moment and closed her eyes, as if she had suddenly been struck with a headache. When she opened her eyes, Chase found that she was looking to him for an answer.

"We are," he admitted, hoping that the dramatics would be over for now.

Thankfully, House didn't say anything, and neither did Cuddy. She pursed her lips and shifted a few papers on her desk, and Chase wondered if that was all that she'd wanted with them. What more could she have to say? It wasn't as if she had any say in who was with whom in her hospital... House was obviously thinking along the same lines, because he turned to Chase and started speaking.

"Do you have X-Files Season 4?" he asked, as if Cuddy were not even in the room with them.

Chase nodded. "Yeah. Somewhere."

Cuddy cleared her throat, and Chase looked to her, wondering what more she had to say. "I want you two to know that, while I am... happy... for you, I don't want this displayed in my hospital."

"What?" House asked, his face tensing.

"I'm sorry, House," Cuddy said, her face not portraying any hint of apology despite her words. "You know that I would be saying the same thing if you had starting dating Cameron—"

"Oh, shut up," House told her disgustedly. "You wouldn't give a flying fuck if I was dating Cameron, but because I'm threatening to ruin your precious hospital's reputation, it's, 'the hell with the Constitution, you can't be gay!' What are you going to do? Fire me? Are you going to fire _Chase_?"

"House, you're a good doctor," Cuddy said in a world-weary voice, but Chase could not find it in himself to feel sympathetic. "But if it comes to that, then yes. The issue is still too controversial, there would be too much negative publicity with a doctor of your notoriety, and I can count four benefactors off the top of my head who would cancel funding if you... and Dr. Chase..."

"Then I quit," House said loudly, his eyes flashing. "You have no right to—"

"House!" Chase yelled, stopping House before he could spout off something that he would later regret.

House went quiet, looking at Chase expectantly. Chase had no idea what to say now, but he knew that he had to speak quickly.

"Please..." Chase fumbled for words that would not serve to make House even angrier. "Don't... we can talk about it later..."

House was silent, letting the words sit in the air, but Chase could see that his anger was giving way to reason as the gears in his head began to turn and think over the situation. Both Chase and Cuddy waited with baited breath as the tension in the room heightened. And then finally, House's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Let's go," he said to Chase, turning around so that his back was to Cuddy.

Chase was still for a moment, and then he came to his senses and hurried after House. "House!" he called, for House had made it a rather amazing distance for someone who didn't have full use of one of his legs.

House stopped and waited for Chase to catch up before he started off again. "Where did we park this morning?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Um..." Chase searched his memory banks. "Your spot, I think." He could feel the anger radiating off of House like he was a uranium bomb, and suppressed the urge to say anything more.

"You're driving," House informed him shortly.

Chase hesitated, and then he spoke. "You know, I don't understand why Cuddy—"

House whirled around, and Chase stopped walking. "Not..." House stopped, and Chase saw his face suddenly harden with suppressed emotion. "Not now."

For a moment, Chase considered challenging him and demanding to know why not now, but instead walked next him without saying word.

The drive home was a quiet one. Chase drove in no hurry, and he was glad that he had the road to distract him from House, who was still inwardly seething despite his best attempts to appear calm. Of course House was mad, he hated authority figures in any form, and Cuddy was overstepping her bounds as an employer to tell them that they were not allowed to show any sign of a relationship at work... Chase realized that House had been right. In Australia, being gay hadn't been the huge deal that it was in America, and he really didn't have a clue what it was like to be discriminated against.

He was beginning to understand why House had been so ready to protect him against all this, for it really did hurt that Cuddy would so easily abandon them because they were romantically involved. It was so stupid, and he couldn't understand why she was doing this. It was almost as if—

"Hey, blondie!" House said loudly, jolting Chase out of his thoughts. "You just passed up our exit."

Chase glanced over at him, and then to the road. "Shit," he muttered, flipping on his turn signal and braking. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"I do that too, sometimes," House said glibly, and Chase frowned and wondered why House was suddenly in such a playful mood.

"Do you?" he asked, returning the light tone. "It must put quite a strain on you."

Chase somehow knew that House was grinning despite the fact that it was dark out and he couldn't even see the man's face. As he pulled into the closest parking spot to his apartment (which was about a hundred feet away from it), a smile came to his own face. They were home, away from the world and people who thought they had the right to judge others.

The rest of the evening went by peacefully. It was passed with microwave pizza and the X-Files, which played in the background while House and Chase curled up on the couch. Chase had forgotten any regrets he had about taking the night off within fifteen minutes, just enjoying the companionable silence, but by the time ten o'clock rolled around neither one of them was feeling awake enough to continue.

House claimed the right side of the bed, just as he had been promised. He must have been feeling oddly affectionate, because as soon as Chase got underneath the covers, House grabbed him and pulled him into a spoon fold. Chase stiffened at first, not used to the arms encircling his chest, but he relaxed and allowed himself to melt into House's body warmth and closed his eyes. A sigh escaped his lips as thoughts of today's events came rushing back to his head, now that he had nothing to distract him.

"I was right," House said softly, his breath warm on Chase's ear.

"Yeah," Chase agreed, opening his eyes. "Like always."

"I would have rather been wrong," House said.

Feeling inexplicably lonely, Chase reached up and grabbed House's arm, but then a second later he realized what he was doing and let go. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling embarrassed at the sudden display of neediness.

House didn't say anything for a while, and Chase let the drowsiness overcome him. He was tired and incredibly comfortable, just laying there in the bed with House. His eyes were shut and he was dozing off into a pleasant dream, when House spoke again and woke him up before he could fully fall asleep.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and Chase felt House's hands running through his hair. It was unfamiliar, but it felt strangely nice, comforting.

"S'not your fault," Chase mumbled sleepily, the motion putting him to sleep faster than a lullaby.

"I know..." were the last words that Chase heard before he fell into a deep sleep, wondering why people thought that this was so wrong.


	9. Ride the Lightning

**Author's Notes: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I think there was some confusion, though, because some people got the alert before the chapter replaced the author's note, so for everyone who missed it **there is a chapter eight**. Also, we should have all read **DNR, Encore** and **Doubt**, because if you haven't by now, you're going to be severely lost in many of the chapters. Including this one. So go read them - they're short, I promise. And so here we have the very long, very interesting chapter nine! Enjoy!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 9  
_(Ride the Lightning)_  
**

In truth, Chase had no idea what was going to happen today. Everything may have calmed down yesterday night, but that held no bearing on what House would do today in retaliation to what Cuddy had told them yesterday. Normally, he had a pretty good grasp on what House's reactions would be, but today there were so many ways that House would take this that it nearly scared the hell out of him.

House had been very quiet this morning, so Chase had almost nothing to go on. House had barely acknowledged him when Chase told him that he was going to work night shift in the NICU tonight, and that was usually enough to at least get him a glare. But House nodded and then pushed his bowl of soggy Fruit Loops around contemplatively. Chase was so desperate to get him to say something that he considered turning on a country radio station on the way to PPTH, but his own hatred for country music made him rethink it.

As they entered the hospital, Cuddy was the first one to approach them.

"House!" she called.

Chase stopped, but when he looked over, he found that House had not stopped walking. He was limping away and not giving any sign that he'd actually heard Cuddy call his name.

Chase stepped in Cuddy's pathway, effectively cutting her off. She looked at him, her expression both frustrated and uncomfortable. He could see her fighting with herself, trying to decide whether she should go after House or just leave. Finally, she made up her mind and handed a manila folder to Chase.

"Tell House that he has to take this," Cuddy said. "He's the son of a donor."

Chase nodded curtly, and turned around to leave.

"And Dr. Chase?"

Chase turned back around, wondering if Cuddy was going to take back her words from yesterday, and maybe even apologize.

"Make sure you and House don't mess up," Cuddy said. For a moment, Chase thought that she was telling him and House to have a good relationship, but he quickly realized that she was warning them not to let their relationship slip to the rest of the hospital, or else they'd both be in big trouble.

Fighting the urge to scowl, Chase nodded again and walked away. He rounded the corner just in time to see the elevator doors close, House standing amongst the crowd of people inside of it. Trying to retain some of his good mood, Chase went to the stairs and pounded up eight flights of steps to get to the fourth floor. As he pushed open the door and saw that the elevator House was riding hadn't arrived yet, a small grin pushed its way onto his face at his victory. It was short lived, however, because before he could take three steps, Wilson appeared.

"Chase," he said, his expression reluctant. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

For a second, Chase considered telling him to shove off and then go to the conference room to deal with Cameron and Foreman, but he liked Wilson, and didn't think that he would start proclaiming judgments as Cuddy had done. And besides that, he was House's friend, and that was saying something for his personality.

"Yeah," Chase finally said.

Wilson glanced to the elevators with a harried look, and Chase wondered whether House had talked to him like he'd said he would. Chase was about to ask him about it, when Wilson started talking.

"Let's go in my office," Wilson said, nodding in agreement with himself.

"You don't want House to hear," Chase observed as they started walking, wondering what Wilson had to say that he couldn't say in front of House. Frankly, he was surprised that Wilson was coming to him like this at all.

"Not particularly," Wilson said as he opened the door to his office and stepped back to allow Chase to enter first. "I'd prefer if he didn't hear about this in the future, either."

"You don't want me to tell House," Chase reiterated with narrowed eyes.

"Look," Wilson said defensively, holding up a hand. "All I want to do is warn you."

"About what?" Chase asked him, his curiosity temporarily overpowering his indignation.

Wilson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "House is... God, he's _intense_. When you first get to know him, and even afterwards, you can just get so swept up in it his brilliance that you'll forget that he's a bastard, that he's a drug addict, that he's a misanthropic ass..."

Chase nodded, knowing exactly what Wilson was talking about.

"But you have to understand," Wilson said. He placed his palms flat on his desk and leaned over it. "For all that, he's so incredibly fragile. The sarcasm and all the jackass front, it's what he uses to shield his insecurities. And when he lets you past that, and you wrong him, it's like dropping a crystal chandelier—it's not going to come back together."

Again, Chase nodded his head. He wondered why Wilson was telling him this; it wasn't anything new. Glancing at the clock and shifting his weight to his other foot, he realized that House was probably in the conference room by now. Chase looked down at the file in his hands, wondering what was wrong with this new patient.

"What I'm trying to say," Wilson said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, "is that the last time House had the chance to do this, he turned it away before he could get hurt again."

"Stacy?" Chase guessed, trying to figure out if he had missed something. That wouldn't make sense, because nothing had happened between House and Stacy when he'd been treating her husband... Right?

"Yeah, Stacy," Wilson told him. "She was going to leave Mark to go with him, but in the end House backed out and told her to go with Mark."

Chase was quiet for a moment, processing the information in his head. Then something clicked in his head. "Hang on," he said with a frown. "There is no choice for House. He's already chosen—he chose over a month ago when he overrode my DNR!"

Wilson pressed his lips together with a frustrated expression, and did not say anything.

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything that Wilson had said up to this point made sense and a flare of anger electrified Chase. "You think," he spluttered, unable to coherently form words for a moment. "You think that this is some kind of _fling_? That House and I are, what? Just in it for the sex?"

"No," Wilson said indignantly. "But look at you! You're young, blonde, smart, sexy... Exactly the type that House would take advantage of!"

"And you've known about us for all of one day. How the hell would you know what our relationship is like?" Chase asked, staring at Wilson in disbelief. He had thought that Wilson, out of everyone, would understand.

"I know what House is like," Wilson countered. "And from what I know about you, it's never going to work."

"What do you know about _me?_" Chase asked incredulously.

"I know that you would take advantage a woman who was high, just because you wanted some sex," Wilson accused. Chase's jaw dropped.

"You're talking about Cameron?" Chase said disbelievingly. "First, that was nearly a year ago—second, I didn't... you know what? I don't have to explain myself to you. House is with me; _deal_ with it."

"Chase, you don't understand what—"

"You know what I think your problem is?" Chase interrupted, not wanting to hear what he didn't understand. "You can't stand to see House with another guy. Is that it?"

"Of course not!" Wilson cried, his face genuinely surprised. "Granted, he's never been in a homosexual relationship before, but—"

"Shows what you know," Chase scoffed.

Wilson paused and stared at him with an almost pleading expression. "Chase," he said, his voice nearly exasperated. "_He doesn't love you_."

Chase stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Chase..." Wilson said pleadingly, his expression desperately imploring.

"_Shut_ _up_," Chase snarled, and then he turned around and stormed out of the office and into the hallway.

As the door shut behind him, Chase suddenly became acutely aware that his hands were trembling and that his breathing was way out of control. For a moment, he felt dizzy, but as he fell against the door he'd just closed and closed his eyes, it waned away. It took several deep breaths to get his irregular heart beat to slow down to a normal pace, and even more to get his hands to stop shaking. Wilson's words echoed in his mind, and he was reminded of a conversation that he'd had with House about two weeks ago.

"_Do you remember that day, after I'd come back to work, the day that Cameron walked in on us?" he'd asked, watching House down another shot and ignoring the rise of displeasure he felt at the sight. He was getting better at doing that._

"_Yeah," House said, the alcohol making his voice sloppy and thick._

"_You said that you were bisexual," Chase continued, the crude label feeling awkward leaving his mouth. _

"_Is this going somewhere?" House asked impatiently, raising an eyebrow at him._

"_Were you with anyone? Before? Were you with—with another guy?" Chase asked quickly, stumbling over the words as he spat them out. _

_House was quiet, and Chase prayed that he was drunk enough to answer the question. Finally, a wry smile came to House's face, and he spoke. "I was. Once. He was the reason I came to this damned city—he left, I stayed here and met Stacy a week later."_

_Chase studied him, deciding that he must have been seriously sloshed to start talking about Stacy without prompting. "What was his name?" he asked finally, curious about this other man for some reason. _

"_Chris," House said quietly. Then suddenly, he sat up straight, waved a hand and hollered, "Hey! Another beer over here!" while Chase realized that House was going to have to stay the night over his place again, because there was no way he was going to be able drive home. _

The memory served to calm him down and erode some of his lingering doubt. After a few minutes more, finally, he was feeling well enough to open his eyes and push himself away from the wall, and enter the conference room.

"Where have you been?" were the first words that he heard, not even a foot in the door.

Chase looked up and saw House staring at him piercingly, his red tennis ball clutched in one hand. Cameron and Foreman sat at the conference table, each with a cup of coffee and Foreman with the newspaper.

"Nowhere," Chase said quickly, hoping to avoid an interrogation. He still wasn't sure if he wanted House to know about his conversation with Wilson... He knew that he should, but what if... What if what Wilson had said was true? What if House laughed in his face, called him a blithering wanna-be hero who had no idea what he was talking about? What if House _agreed_ with what Wilson had said?

"Your hands are shaking," House noted with raised eyebrows.

Chase jumped and looked down to his hands, which were indeed shaking. Suppressing a curse, he shoved his left hand into his pocket and clenched the file even tighter in his right. "Too much coffee this morning," he said, attempting to sound dismissive.

"What's in your hand?" House continued to ask, but his eyes were fixed on Chase's face and his brow was drawn together... thought? Concern?

"Case," Chase said, glad to finally get off the topic of where he'd been. "Cuddy says you've got to take it." Reluctantly, he held out the file and willed his hand not to tremble.

House took three steps to cross the room and snatched the file out of Chase's hand. "So you were with her," he said as he flipped open the file.

"No," Chase said, not offering anything more. He left his spot in the doorway in favour of one of the conference room chairs that sat about the glass table, where Foreman and Cameron sat.

House looked up from the file to give Chase a hard, long look that Chase tried his best not to quail under. After a moment, he seemed somewhat satisfied and nodded, then set the file down on the table and limped over to the whiteboard. "Okay, people. Differential for seizures and high blood sugar."

"_High_?" Foreman asked, reaching for the file, but Cameron beat him to it. "That should cause drowsiness, not a seizure."

"It should," Cameron agreed, "But it didn't. He's definitely hyperglycaemic."

"How old is he?" Chase asked, craning his neck to try to get a better view of the papers inside of the fault, but Cameron had them at a bad angle.

Cameron frowned at him and drew the paper closer to her. "You've already read it," she said with a slightly dirty look. "And he's 28 years old."

"I didn't read it," Chase said, surprised by her attitude.

"Is he diabetic?" Foreman asked, easily ignoring Chase as if he hadn't just spoken.

"No," Cameron said. "But he could be. Type 2 Diabetes usually doesn't present until after the body has matured, because—"

"We know that," House spoke up at last. "We all went to medical school, Cameron. And stop being a folder hog."

Cameron blushed lightly and set the folder down on the table. Chase made a lunge for it, but Foreman was closer and his hand seized it just as Chase's fingertips brushed against it. Sitting back with a sigh, he waited to hear what Foreman's take on the file was.

"What about drugs? Or an STD?" Foreman said after a minute.

"What was the last STD you heard of that involved seizures and hyperglycaemia?" Chase asked him, but he had to give him credit for the drugs.

"I agree with Chase," House said. "Go ahead and do a—"

"You're biased!" Cameron interrupted, glaring at him.

House stopped. "Biased how?" he asked her delicately, even though everyone in the room already knew the answer.

"He's having sex with you," Cameron said incredulously. "Of course you're going to agree with him."

"It really isn't your business who I'm having sex with," House said curtly, and Chase could hear the anger hidden under the calm overtones.

"It's my business if you're going to play favourites," Cameron said stubbornly.

Chase closed his eyes, wondering how much grief he was going to have to put up with today. First Cuddy, then Wilson and now Cameron seemed to be going at them. She'd been sitting the fence about her feeling towards House and him, but Chase didn't understand what had apparently led to her ultimate, negative decision. It could have been the fact that he and House had 'came out', but he couldn't understand why Cameron would be angry about that. She was an atheist, so she didn't have the 'homos to hell' thing going on... right? What had set her off?

"I'm _not_ playing favourites," House said impatiently. "Chase was right—it's more likely to be a drug than an STD. I would have told him he was right even if I wasn't sharing a bed with him."

"No, you wouldn't; you never rule something out under the pretense that it isn't likely. You love unlikely, and you would have said that drugs were boring and to do a full STD panel," Cameron insisted, her jaw set determinedly.

"Fine!" House said in exasperation. "You can do an STD panel, then when it comes back negative, you can help Chase do a drug screen and a test for diabetes. Does that make you feel better?"

Cameron's determined expression did not change, and she said nothing.

"What about me?" Foreman asked, seeming to realize that House had not mentioned his name.

"You're going to be dialling his relatives to verify his medical history," House said. "I don't trust him.

Foreman nodded.

"And now that that's resolved... _Why_ are you all still sitting here?" House asked after a long silence.

Chase rose in tandem with Foreman and Cameron, glad to the issue at least temporarily resolved. He would confront Cameron about it, now that Foreman wouldn't be around, and find out what he problem was. He watched as she passed by House, and her face hardened, softened, and then settled into a blank expression, all with in a single second.

House grabbed Chase's arm as he passed, and Chase allowed himself to be pulled back. House said nothing and studied him critically, as if he were running a MRI with his eyes. His blue eyes roved around Chase's body for a minute or so, and Chase swallowed uncomfortably, knowing that he was looking for signs that Chase was hiding something.

"I'm fine," he said, reaching up and pulling House's hand off of his arm. He didn't wait for House to say anything more, and left the room before the whispering doubts in his ears could get any louder.

* * *

Chase and Cameron were walking to the patient's room, which was on the third floor for some odd reason. The silence between the two was uncomfortable at best, and downright nerve-wracking to put it at worst, and Chase knew that he had to break it. This was his chance to talk her without Foreman and House overhearing. 

"What's wrong?" he asked her, trying to work a reasonable amount of concern into his voice.

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked, looking over towards him.

"You," Chase said, "Back there in the conference room."

"House was favouring you," Cameron said, glancing over to him. "I had to say _something_."

Chase held back a sigh. "So you don't have a problem with the fact that I got House and you didn't?"

"No," Cameron said, looking surprised. "I've told you before, I'm over House. No hard feelings. You can have him."

"You're sure?" Chase pressed, wondering if maybe he was overreacting.

"Of course I'm sure—Chase," Cameron said, looking over to him, "I'm just worried about you. House is—he's such an ass, and I think he might using you for, you know..."

"Sex," Chase said flatly, feeling as if he'd already had this conversation.

"Well, yes..." Cameron said uncomfortably.

"He's not," Chase said. "It's not always about the sex, Cameron."

"I know that," Cameron said. "But with House... he's a mess. God knows if he could even be in a functional relationship, let alone last in one."

"He seems to be managing just fine with me," Chase said tightly, trying not to let the comment sting.

"Obviously not," Cameron pointed out. "You two were ready to declare a Cold War on Thursday."

"That's..." Chase trailed off, not wanted to reveal the details of their fight to Cameron. But without doing that, he had no idea how to dispute her. "Every relationship has its rocky times."

Cameron looked at him with raised eyebrows. "A relationship with House is going to be rocky _all_ the time."

"And what would you know about that?" Chase sniped, the words leaving his mouth before he could think.

A hurt look flashed on her face. "Nothing," she conceded in a small voice.

Chase felt a flare of guilt, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept his mouth shut.

* * *

It was much later on before Chase would have another conversation of that length with someone else. Around six at night, in the dark of House's office, while he and Hose ate. At first, it was silent. Chase was still fighting his doubts about eating here at all, but today had been particularly rough with Cameron and Wilson both talking with him and the thoughts he had been wrestling with all day long... In the dimly lit room, sitting across from House in the quiet, their voices were even louder than they had been all day. 

"You've been quiet," House commented into the silence.

"I've been thinking," Chase responded, staring off into space instead of looking over to House.

"About..." House said leadingly.

Chase shrugged. "Things," he said offhandedly. "Us. The future. The meaning of life. You know, just the normal hodgepodge."

House snorted. "Is that why you came in this morning all funny?"

"I didn't," Chase said evenly, fixing House with a stare to try to prove a point he knew wasn't true.

"Please," House said derisively. "I could have knocked you over with a feather."

"Nothing happened," Chase insisted, though he wasn't sure why he was being so adamant about this. It wouldn't hurt to tell House about the conversation he'd had with Wilson, right?

"Liar."

Those stupid doubts came back to his mind, whispering and conniving their way about. Of course he didn't want to talk about it... what would House's reaction to it be? What if he agreed with Wilson? What if he laughed at Chase and ask him why he'd ever thought that this was something more than a fling? He was... Chase was too cowardly to face that. And so he said nothing.

"You're working NICU tonight," House said finally through a bite of hamburger.

"Yeah," Chase said softly, wondering where House was going with this.

"You could take off again..." House suggested hesitantly, not meeting his eyes. "I said I'd cover it, and I'm not lying."

"I'm not looking for charity," Chase said resolutely.

"It's not charity," House told him with a hint of aggressiveness in his voice.

Chase opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a rush of light assaulted his eyes, and he flinched away from it and heard House swear.

"I'm sorry... I hope I'm not interrupting," Cameron said nervously.

When his eyes had recovered from the burst of brightness, Chase looked up and saw Cameron standing in the doorway with a apologetic expression on her face. House was looking at her with nothing less than agitation on his face.

"What?" he snapped, beating Chase to the punch.

"Um... it's... um..." Cameron stammered, her voice wavering and unsure.

"Just say it," House said impatiently, glaring at her. Chase would have liked to point out that, as Cameron was already so nervous, glaring at her might not have exactly been encouraging, but Cameron spoke up quickly.

"Our patient, well, he isn't our patient anymore," she said hesitatingly while she wrung her hands and refused to meet either of their eyes.

"Why? Did he die?" House asked, studying her with a renewed interest.

"No, he..." Cameron trailed off and shook her head, now gazing down at the ground. "I'm so sorry."

"What is it?" Chase said, finally getting the chance to speak.

"He... he doesn't want to..." Cameron mumbled something unintelligible.

"Didn't hear you," House said loudly, making a show of cupping his hand around his ear and leaning forward.

"He doesn't want to be treated by _homosexuals_!" Cameron yelled, her voice tearing as she spoke.

For a moment, the room was so perfectly silent that you could heard a pin drop. Chase could scarcely hear House ask how the man had found out, because his mind was trapped in a sudden swirl of thoughts and feelings that blocked out everything else that was going on. Their patient was refusing to be treated because he and House were together... was there anyone who could just be happy for them?

Maybe... maybe it wasn't worth it all.

It would be so much easier for everyone. Cuddy wouldn't be on them for risking hospital funding, Cameron wouldn't be jumping all over them in attempts to make everything 'fair', Wilson wouldn't be telling him to get lost, they could treat whoever they wanted to and not have to put up with all this prejudice... Not to mention, nothing seemed to be going right between them. Cameron had been right—on Thursday, Chase had been ready to call off the whole thing. Was he really so unattached, so uninvolved in this relationship that he would leave House just like that?

Wilson's words from this morning flew into his head, despite Chase's best attempts to keep them out. If he had been so ready to leave, what was there to say that House wouldn't just as soon do the same thing? When it got to be too much, when he tired of Chase, why wouldn't he dump him on his ass and move one? It wasn't as if House hadn't done it before...

"And _you_!" House suddenly shouted, and Chase jumped as he realized that House was raging at him with his face contorted in fury. "Aren't you going to the NICU right about now?"

He was angry, Chase knew. He was frustrated that he couldn't have his patient, that someone had messed up, that he was still pissed at Cuddy for her little ban... In his temper, House didn't really mean anything that he was saying. He didn't have control over his mouth when he was angry, and House would want Chase to stay so that they could finish their conversation when he'd calmed down. Chase knew all of this.

But he did not stay.

"Fine," he said, glaring back at House. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Chase left the room with a cold ball gnawing at the pit of his stomach, leaving House standing alone in the silence.


	10. Creeping Death

**Author's Notes: **Howdy, all! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I'm glad to hear that you're all enjoying this so far. Things aren't too bad in this chapter... I tried to stick in a little bit of 'good time' for House and Chase. It's shorter than the previous one, unfortunately, and the next one is even shorter. But, anyways, enjoy!

* * *

**Us and Them **

**Chapter 10  
_(Creeping Death)_  
**

"Chase..."

"Mmph... g'way..."

"Chase, you're going to get up now or I'll start beating you with my cane."

Blearily, Chase opened his eyes and raised his head up, blinking the light. Looking at his surroundings, he found himself laying on his stomach, sprawled out on House's couch in his office. Judging by the amount of sunlight that was pouring through the windows behind House's desk, it was at least noon... How long had he been asleep? Had Cuddy noticed? What if she was angry with him for slacking off? Would she not pay him for—

"Hey, wake up," House said suddenly, making Chase jump. He half-asleep brain hadn't realized that House was in the room with him.

"I am up," Chase said, his voice thick with sleep and a stifled yawn. He rubbed one eye with his fist and ran his other hand through his hair, knowing that it must be sticking out at all sorts of wild angles. "What time is it?"

"Noon," House said, sitting down in the recliner that sat adjacent to the couch. "What time did you get off?"

Chase sat up, and his jacket (which he had used as a blanket last night in the cold office) fell to the floor. "Dunno. Maybe four... There was a mother giving birth to quints—only two of them made it past the three hour mark."

"All these idiots doing in vitro fertilization," House remarked. "Why do you do that, anyways?"

"Because some couples have trouble conceiving the natural way, so they are forced to seek out—"

"Not that, you smartass," House interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Why do you work all of these ridiculous hours? You're a freaking doctor, the money you make a week could feed the Brady Bunch for a month." Chase opened his mouth. "And don't lie to me—I am the one signing your paychecks, you know."

Chase shrugged. "It's complicated."

"Un-complicate it for me," House said, settling back in the chair comfortably.

"My dad went on a bit of a splurge before he died. Gambling, drinking, traveling the world—you know, just blowing everything he had. By the time he was too sick to spend his money, there was almost none left to pay for his medical bills. So when he died, my stepmother did some fancy legal maneuvers and I inherited his debts," Chase said. It really wasn't too complicated, it was just something he didn't feel like something everyone needed to know.

"Wait a minute..." House said, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. "You signed your DNR papers a few days after your father died."

"You'd be amazed how much debt a person can rack up in a couple months," Chase said dryly.

"So it wasn't because he was dead, it was just because of the debt?" House asked, the revelation making him stare at Chase with raised eyebrows.

Chase shrugged. "There was that. I certainly didn't care that he was dead."

House frowned. "He wrote a few books, and the—"

"No," Chase said, shaking his head. "The copyright is in the name of Alice Springs Rheumatology Center."

"What a bastard," House said calmly, drawing a pattern on the arm of the recliner idly.

"It's almost all paid off," Chase told him. "I've got about $5,000 left."

House leaned his head back and shut his eyes, and Chase was tempted to do the same. However, if he did, Chase knew that he would probably go right back to sleep, which he couldn't do. So instead he focused his thoughts on House. He certainly seemed to be in a better mood than last night, though no apology had come forth... though this was House. Apologies were the last thing to expect. And given that, House being friendly was nearly an apology in itself.

Did that mean that Wilson was wrong? Anyone could be friendly, but with House friendly meant a whole other world. Did he think of him as a good friend, who also provided good sex? Maybe it was all a facade for the stupid sex... Or maybe Wilson was wrong. That could have been right, but his mind called up the cold face that had faced him only last week, the enraged face that had spit on him last night... and his mind wondered if that was just what he wanted to believe.

"Do you remember..." Chase started hesitantly, trailing off and losing confidence. He stared down at the floor and hoped that House hadn't heard him.

"What?" House asked, opening his eyes and staring at him.

Chase shook his head. "Nothing."

"_What?_" House asked again, bringing his head forward to lean forward and give him one of those penetrating stares that made Chase feel as if he were being x-rayed.

"It's... I..." Chase struggled to find something to look at, but he couldn't find anything, so he forced himself to stare into House's eyes as he said the words. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Which time?" House returned with a sly grin on his face.

"The first time," Chase muttered, looking down to House's cane instead of in his eyes.

The grin faded, and House did not say anything.

"Do you remember it?" Chase asked him softly, trying to lead off an answer. "It was New Years Day, I'd just called the time on—"

"I remember," House interrupted curtly. "Why do you want to know?"

Chase realized then and there that House was not going to answer the question, and so he stood up and stretched out his muscles that hadn't been used in so long, and yawned hugely. He patted his hair again, then bent down to pick up his jacket. "No reason. I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll be in the conference room."

House did not say anything as he left, but Chase saw him reaching for his iPod in the reflection of the glass as he opened the door.

* * *

If the couch had been nice, then the shower was heaven. Chase had not taken a shower in the hospital since last Wednesday, which was good, considering that he normally showered at PPTH every other day. But last week he'd gotten his overtime in during the day, so there had been no need to work through the night. It wasn't so hard—or at least, it hadn't been—to spend his nights in NICU, because there hadn't really been a better alternative, besides sleeping. But now, for the first since he'd left Australia, he had something to come home to. Going home meant company and warmth and occasional sex, and no longer brought the mental picture of lonely nights and empty beds and silence.

It wasn't really necessary to work tonight, Chase thought as his hands worked shampoo into his scalp furiously. He could just go home, maybe pull out X-Files Season 5 and watch it with House, relax and get away from the trouble that was brewing in the hospital. It occurred to him that Cameron had probably starting squalling her head off when she saw that House was letting Chase sleep, and he grinned.

Just as Chase was shutting off the water tap, he heard the door to the shower room open. Someone padded in, and Chase saw tennis-shoed feet pass by his stall. There was the sound of a locker opening, and Chase opened the curtain to find a med student he saw frequently in NICU crouched over a locker. Jerry? Jamie? Chase couldn't remember...

"Afternoon," Chase said with a nod.

Jerry-Jamie looked over his shoulder, and then the color rapidly left his face. "D—Dr. Chase. Hi."

Chase tried to ignore Jerry-Jamie's stammer. "Hello yourself. Did you get barfed on again?" he asked, remembering the multiple times that he'd seen Jerry-Jamie with a vomit covered shirt or stained shoes. He thought that he'd once heard another med student calling him the _Vomit Comet_ because of his constant misfortunes.

"No," Jerry-Jamie said quickly. "Actually, I was going to shower before I went home, but I guess I'll just use the dorm showers. Bye!" He was out like a flash, dropping his stethoscope on the floor and not returning to get it.

For a minute, Chase considered believing that story. But then the annoying, House-like rational voice broke into his thoughts and forced him to face the facts. Jerry-Jamie was obviously terrified at the thought of being in a shower room with a 'gay' man. Why, Chase didn't understand. Was he worried that Chase would try to take a peek while he was showering? The very thought made he wrinkle his nose in disgust.

"Idiots," Chase muttered, pulling out his clothes and changing into them. The shower had gotten rid of that gritty, rotten feeling that had bothering him since he'd woken up, and he was feeling more awake and alert.

As he walked down the hallway, Chase could have sworn that people were refusing to meet his eyes. Or it could have been his imagination. He would like to think that the whole hospital didn't know about him and House, but rationally, Chase knew that most everyone did, given that their ex-patient had probably been lodging complaints with every nurse, doctor and janitor that he saw. Regardless, it was probably just him imagining things when he thought he saw a nurse come around the corner, catch sight of him, and then turn around and hurry away in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chase!" a familiar voice called from behind him.

Chase paused and turned around, seeing Wilson walking quickly to catch up with him. Remembering yesterday, he mentally cringed but welcomed the company grudgingly. Walking down the hallway next to Wilson, it made him feel less as if he were on a pedestal.

"Hello," Wilson said, adjusting his step to match Chase's.

"What?" Chase asked, bracing himself for another battle.

"I just wanted to... to apologize," Wilson said uncomfortably.

For a second, Chase felt the tension in his face melt away at the shock of hear those words, but he recovered quickly. "For what?" he asked suspiciously.

"For what I said yesterday." Wilson pursed his lips. "I shouldn't have been so—crass—about it."

"But you still mean it," Chase said bluntly.

"Well, yes," Wilson agreed reluctantly. "Look, Chase, I don't have anything against you, but House is just... He's been hurt so many times I can't see why he would reach out once more. It's just not like him."

Chase felt a flash of anger, but he kept his mouth shut, because he knew that his arguments would only fall on deaf ears.

"Keep your eyes open," Wilson warned him. "Be wary of him. If he does anything, if he says anything, back out as fast as you can. I'd hate to see you get crushed by him."

"I'll keep that in mind," Chase said stiffly, trying to ignore any plausibility that Wilson's words might hold.

Wilson opened his mouth to say something more, but suddenly Cuddy appeared with a series of file folders in her hands. She seemed to sense that she was interrupting a tense conversation because a reluctant, somewhat apologetic expression came on to her face as she looked at their faces. "Dr. Wilson, Dr. Chase."

Wilson smiled patiently and Chase nodded.

Cuddy took one of the file folders and handed it to Wilson. "There's a Heads meeting in five minutes—Conference Room D, it's mandatory."

"This is sudden," Wilson commented as he accepted the manila folder. "How long will it last?"

"Probably an hour," Cuddy said. "Maybe longer, if people are feeling excitable today."

Wilson smiled again, but this time it was much more a grim line rather than an accepting grin. "All right." When Cuddy departed to go and inform other department heads, he turned back to Chase. "Take what I said into consideration. Please."

Chase nodded, knowing that, despite how much he hated to hear these words, they would linger for days and fester in his brain until he managed to regain his security. Wilson hurried away to the meeting room, and Chase continued on his way to House's office. He wondered why Cuddy would announce a Heads meeting with such haste—usually she had notices for them posted weeks in advance. Chase decided to ask House what it was about when he returned from the meeting.

But Chase was surprised to see House sitting in the conference room with Cameron and Foreman. He was standing at the whiteboard, marker in one hand and a scowl on his face. It appeared that they had gotten a new patient, and Chase caught the end of House's sentence as he pushed open the door.

"—if he's the Pope, the man has a..." House stopped as he saw Chase walk in the door, and some of the intensity in his expression faded. "Howdy, Chase. So good of you to finally join us."

"I was as fast as I could be," Chase said, even though this wasn't quite true. However, 'I went a little slower than usual' wouldn't really appease House. "Sorry. Why aren't you in the meeting?"

House gave him a look.

"Oh. Right," Chase said. He'd forgotten that House never went to Heads meetings. "Well, do you know what it's about?"

House shrugged. "Us, more likely than not."

"Are they threatening to shut down Diagnostics again?" Cameron asked, shocked.

House gave her a withering stare. "Me and Chase, you ninny."

"What have they got to—" Chase started to ask, but House quickly interrupted him.

"Well, Danny-boy went running to Papa," House recounted irritably, "who told all of his drinking buddies, who decided—"

"Wait," Chase said, struggling desperately to catch up with House. "Cut the metaphor. Danny-boy... patient... he told his father... his father was one of the benefactors!" he realized suddenly, looking up at House with wide eyes. "What's he doing?"

"He's buying a GLBT t-shirt—what do you think he's doing?" House snapped, apparently not in the mood for patience. "And now there are three or four others that are threatening to follow him."

"What is Cuddy going to do?" Cameron asked, now looking horrified.

"It doesn't matter," House said impatiently. "What's done is done, there's nothing that any of us can do."

Chase frowned and tried not to think about how House _could_ have been in the meeting right now, defending their case, but he dismissed it. It wasn't like that would have done any good. But still, that was unlike House to take this laying down... unless... no—_no_. House wanted this to work, he just knew that any defense he made would have been futile.

"Cuddy could fire you," Cameron said, unabated. "She could fire Chase... Actually, she'd be more likely to fire Chase, because he's the one with less seniority out the two of—"

"Cameron! _Shut up!_" House barked.

Cameron looked thoroughly chagrinned and went silent.

"No one is getting fired right now," House said with a weary sharpness in his voice. "So let's just focus on the case."


	11. Ain't My Bitch

**Author's Notes: **Hello all! First, an _enormous_ thank you to my beta **East-Wing-Witch** who has taught me so much about grammar and writing in just these few weeks - I'm almost ashamed of the first half of this! On the other hand, this chapter is fifty times better because of her, so we can all sing a grand national anthem in her honor! Um... I might not update for the rest of the week because I'm getting a new computer, and the transfer process might take a while. This chapter is not a happy one, but I used a very cool format that I borrowed from the Star Wars fandom. Hope you all like!

* * *

**Us and Them **

**Chapter 11  
_(Ain't My Bitch)_  
**

"And you're still here because?"

Chase stood up. Cameron and Foreman had left a few minutes ago, but it had taken House five more to realize that Chase had not departed with them and was still sitting at the conference room table.

"I wanted to talk to you," Chase said, glancing behind him to ensure that Cameron and Foreman were not coming back or lurking outside of the room, watching through the glass.

"About what?" House asked, watching Chase intently as he made his way around the room, over to where House stood.

Chase hadn't quite formulated that part, but he opened his mouth and hoped that something sensible would spill out. "About the—" He stopped at the sound of the door opening, and turned to see Wilson in the doorway.

"Oh," Wilson said, taking a slight step back as he took in the scene. "I... I can come back."

House waved his hand. "Talk," he commanded imperiously.

Wilson hesitated, and his eyes fell on Chase.

"Chase is staying," House said right away, seeming to understand Wilson's qualm before he'd even said it. His eyes flashed some warning to Wilson, and Chase wondered if Wilson had spoken to House. But then why would Wilson have asked Chase not to say anything to House?

"All right," Wilson agreed, as if he had actually had a choice in the situation. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "The meeting was about you two."

"I figured as much," House said offhandedly. "What's Cuddy doing?"

Wilson's face tightened. "We have two major donors threatening to cut funding, three minor ones that want to follow and one that's already gone—she's freaking out. Radiology isn't getting new stationing boards, Peds is dropping their campaign for an expanded wing, and we'll have to fire a third of maintenance if anyone else cuts out..."

"This means more clinic duty for me, doesn't it?" House asked in a long-suffering voice, and Chase suppressed his smile.

Wilson was not so willing to see the humorous side of things. "It's not a joke, House," he snapped, putting his hands on his hips. "You've cost this hospital $20 million alone today, and who knows how much more we're going to lose since you insist on keeping up this little..."

"Little what?" Chase challenged, glad to have an excuse to speak up.

"Nothing," Wilson said, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders sagging as he finally seemed to realize that he would not win this argument. "Anyway, don't be surprised if Cuddy's on the warpath for the next few days."

"All right," House said. "Thanks for the heads up."

Wilson turned to leave, walked over to the door, but then stopped with his hand resting on the handle, the door still unopened. He turned back around, his face curious. "House? You wanna get a drink after work?"

House looked over to Chase, who forced himself to shrug as if it didn't matter to him. "I was going to take tonight off, but you and Wilson can go out—I wouldn't mind." He would mind very much, actually, for fear of what Wilson might say to House. He could tell him all sorts of things, plant those little seeds of doubt in House's mind as he'd done to Chase, but he couldn't say that. Wilson was House's friend.

"I'm busy," House said to Wilson, surprising Chase. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll see you later." And with that, Wilson was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

"You know," Chase said, leaning back against the wall, "you didn't have to—"

He was abruptly cut off as House grabbed him and pulled him into a fierce kiss, startling all the thoughts out of his mind. Chase quickly forgot about Wilson and Cameron and Cuddy... he was locked in an exchange of heat and passion, his hands searching out the familiar skin and bones and muscles, and he realized how much he'd missed this in the day or so that he had been away from House. Together, they had such a strong, electrifying passion that seemed to have a life of its own. What was there to doubt? Only...

"No," he said, pushing House away gently and breaking the kiss as he remembered where he was. "If Cuddy finds us—"

"Fuck Cuddy," House growled, grabbing Chase's shoulder aggressively, as if he might start shaking Chase at any moment. "How long has it been since we did this?"

Chase tried not to listen to the part of him that was agreeing with House. "I know, but we agreed that we wouldn't do this at work... And Cuddy's losing so much money because of us already..."

"I never agreed to anything," House said hotly, his eyes flashing in defiance.

"We should wait until things settle down, at least," Chase reasoned desperately, knowing that he didn't want to be fighting with House and unsure of why he was putting up a fight in the first place.

"What, when Cuddy manages to beat us into submission?" House demanded of him, his hand on Chase's shoulder tightening.

Chase tried not to squirm under House's painfully tight grip. "That's not what she's trying to do," he said wildly, the pain making his mind race and his mouth babble. "It's only for a little while, just until people get used to us, that's all, then we can do this. It's not that I don't want to, I do, but I just don't want—"

"Is that what you think?" House sneered, using his hand to shake Chase roughly. "This is it? Once people get over the initial shock, everything will go back to the way it was?"

"I don't know!" Chase struggled to free himself from House now, twisting violently and trying to pry House's fingers away, but House didn't even seem to notice him. "I don't _know,_ all right?"

"It's not going to end, Chase!" House yelled, his hand twisting a little and causing a sharp sear of pain that left Chase unable to breathe and made white spots dance before his eyes. "There's always going to be people who won't understand us! You can't hide from the world _forever_!"

Chase stared at him, regaining his breath, a million words flying through his head. He nearly staggered backwards, but House's hand held him. "Let go of me," he said, not trusting his voice to be louder than a whisper.

House suddenly seemed to realize that he was still holding Chase, and he jerked his hand back roughly.

"Go have drinks with Wilson tonight," Chase said, and then he left.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Gregory House: 

You are scared. You've just hurt the only person your life who isn't currently pissed off at you—Chase wouldn't admit it, but you could see the pain and the fear that had burned in his eyes. The part that scares you is that you didn't even realize that you were hurting him until it was too late. Now you can add him to the list of people that you need to avoid... And maybe, if you were a better person, you would go and apologize to him. But you can't. You have no idea where you would start, because it isn't just this moment that you have fucked up.

You should have never kissed him in the first place. It had been impulsive, you were completely high on morphine (you'd have to tell him that, too), and ever since that day you've only been dragging him down. You forced him to keep up that stupid charade for nearly a month, made him lie to Cameron and Foreman and Cuddy, and then you nearly made him lose his life in that stupid fire, then you threw him out on his ass while thinking that you were protecting him, you forced yourself into his apartment, you alienated him from Cameron and thrust him into the hospital gossip mill, put his job in danger, and now you've hurt him.

You've done nothing but hurt him.

It would be better if you ended it.

Told him it was over.

Everything would be done.

You could claim that Wilson was right, that Chase was just a fluke and a mistake that you never meant to make, and things would go back to normal. You wouldn't be dragging Chase down... but you'd probably destroy him as well as yourself in doing so. Chase wouldn't understand, he would be so lost and confused if you were to go in and just drop him. You can see his face as you say the words, watch the life leave those blue eyes as his entire face shuts down, closing you out forever. You don't know if you could do that to him. To yourself.

You don't know what to do next. You want to run and hide away from all of this, and you wish that you'd never opened yourself up to Chase. The world around you is closing in, there's no one left to turn to, and it's all your fault.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Robert Chase: 

You are scared. The one person in your life that you thought would be on your side has just hurt you. You know that House didn't mean to hurt you, but the image of him mocking you and shouting at you won't leave your mind. Part of you is saying that if he _really_ loved you, if you weren't some sex toy, then he would have been able to control himself. House would have remembered that he loved you and wouldn't have grabbed you and hurt you like he did. You wish that he would come and prove you wrong, come to you and apologize.

House is probably one of the best things that you've had going in your life for a long time—at least, he was. You were beginning to think that it might work out, that this was the one thing that would finally go right for you... Now you've let the outside world into your private life, and House can't even kiss you anymore without it starting a fight. It seems like Wilson and Cuddy and Cameron are lurking around every corner, waiting to tell you more things about House and how it's never going to work out. You feel like the longer you hold on to House, the harder everything is trying to push you away.

You're tired of holding on.

It would be so much easier to let go.

You could go back to Australia.

Never see House again.

You could say that this argument was the last straw, that you couldn't be with someone who was going to be abusive, and then the pressure of the people who were tearing you apart would be gone at last. House would be free of you and he wouldn't have to pretend that this was something more than a game to him. You can see his face, the tense lines wiping away as you tell him that you're leaving. But the image makes you sick, because you don't want to leave and you'd rather be a fling-boy rather than not have him at all.

You don't know what to do next. You're too scared to run away from all of this, too cowardly to challenge House, but you hate sitting here and letting him make all of the moves. Things are out of your control, life is spinning and unraveling before your eyes, and you hate it.


	12. Seek and Destroy

**Author's Notes: **Okay, guys, I am _so_ sorry for the no-update thing last week! My new computer proved to be a slight hassle, but is now set up and working beautifully. I have only this to say: Dual Core processing is the most brilliant idea since they figured out that flint on flint makes fire. On the subject of this story, a lot of people are remarking on how they hate Wilson and Cuddy. This is fine, but guys, I'm not trying to make them into bad guys - they're just reacting. There are no bad guys in this story, only characters reacting to the situations that they're put into. So, here we go, at long last. Enjoy!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 12  
_(Seek and Destroy)_  
**

Chase did not go home that night. He worked in NICU again, and when his shift ended at five in the morning he stumbled into the on-call rooms usually reserved for interns and fell asleep on one of the bunks. This time, he had the presence of mind to set his cell phone to wake him up at eight so that he could get to the conference room on time and not face an interrogation from House. However, he had not foreseen the possibility that his cell phone batteries would die out and he would oversleep by almost four hours.

"Shit..." he muttered to himself, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out as he read the time on the tiny screen.

Chase toppled out of the bed and got to his feet shakily, the adrenaline beginning to course through him as he became more aware of the trouble he was going to be in. He stumbled out, uncaring of the fact that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, that his breath probably stank like a pile of dead fish and that his hair would make people wonder if he'd tried to comb it with a hacksaw. The only thought that was running through his mind was that he was late.

His disheveled appearance made a few people stare as he ran down the hallway, and Chase counted a full eight people who had started laughing by the time he made it to the conference room. Pushing open the door, he braced himself for a tirade.

"Chase! Oh my God, you look terrible! What happened? You shouldn't be here, you should go home and rest—just look at you!"

While it wasn't quite the tirade he'd been expecting, Chase bit his tongue and tried not to let out all of the comments that he was bursting to say. As annoying as Cameron's mothering tendencies could be, it was better than House screaming at him for being late. Instead of anything else, he waved her away and tried to stay polite.

"I'm fine, thanks, just overslept a little," he said, lowering his head so that his hair fell around his face, shading him from the intense sunlight that was pouring through the windows, and he took a step away from Cameron, who had risen out of her seat in concern.

"You _overslept_? What kind of crap is that?"

Chase winced at House's voice, and he felt Cameron's arms on his shoulders protectively.

"Lay off of him, House," Cameron said bravely. "He looks terrible!"

"He's a wimp who can't handle a little overtime—he looks terrible every day," House said, rolling his eyes while Chase tried to not grind his teeth in irritation.

"When was the last time _you_ worked overtime?" he returned, glaring at House for the jibe. House _knew_ that he had worked through the night for two nights in a row, but he couldn't sympathize a little, could he?

"That's because I wasn't stupid enough to get into debt," House pronounced, his face smug and his eyes challenging Chase to say something more.

Chase clenched his jaw and tried to control the feelings of betrayal that were surging inside of him. "That's not my debt and you know it," he said sharply, planning to give House a piece of his mind later on. "Nice shirt," he commented, recognizing the dark turtleneck as one of his own.

"Thanks. I had a busy night last night," House said with a wink.

Chase automatically assumed that he was joking, because that was something that House said almost every day, but as House bent down the neck of the shirt came down slightly, revealing the tip of a reddish bruise that was obviously a hickey. Stunned, it was a moment before words would come to his mouth.

"You had _sex_ in my apartment?" Chase said, staring at him in disbelief.

"Better than anything we've ever had," House said brashly.

Chase stared at him for a moment, but House seemed oblivious to the damage his comment had done. Finally, Chase came to his senses and pushed his own feelings away. "I'm fine, Cameron," He shrugged her off and walked over to the table, sitting down in his usual chair. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing important," House said breezily, picking up where he'd left off. "Don't worry, we can just take it off your paycheck."

"My—!" Chase stopped himself as the outrage choked his throat and pounded in his chest. The bastard! Of course he would take off of his paycheck, when he knew that Chase was scrounging for all the money he could get. House knew that and he could have attacked anywhere else, but it had to be the damn money.

"You're not getting any special treatment from me. What, do you think I like you or something?" House taunted, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

Chase said nothing and looked down at the table, reminding himself that he could shout and scream House later. "What did I miss?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Twenty-seven year old woman," Foreman spoke up. "Thirteen months pregnant with unexplained kidney distress."

"And by unexplained, you mean besides the dead baby that's been crushing her for months?" Chase asked, grateful for the distraction from House.

"Baby's not dead," Foreman said. "It's alive and kicking—developmentally, it's about seven months old."

"And that's... perfectly okay?" Chase asked. "Nobody else thinks that this is a little odd?"

"Well, we haven't called in Ripley's yet, so obviously there _is_ an explanation for a thirteen-month pregnancy," House said, his voice irritated. "Arrested pregnancy syndrome." He waited three seconds. "So why am I not hearing a differential?"

"She could have malaria, and the pregnancy could have been arrested because of the disease," Foreman said after a moment of thought.

"And she just forgot to mention the fact that she's been throwing up, feeling dizzy, fatigued—" Cameron said, but Chase interrupted before she could go on to list off all twenty-five symptoms of malaria.

"Yeah," Chase said, "But, nausea, fatigue, dizziness—they're all symptoms of pregnancy, too. Arrested pregnancy means she's from Haiti or the Dominican Republic, right? They don't exactly have five star educations."

"You're saying that because she comes from an underprivileged country, she's too stupid to differentiate a pregnancy from malaria?" Cameron demanded, her jaw set and ready for a fight.

"You _Americans_ couldn't differentiate a pregnancy from malaria," Chase retorted, looking to Foreman for some support. "Not everyone is a walking medical encyclopedia."

"No..." Foreman said thoughtfully, shaking his head. "If she had malaria, I think that she would be a lot sicker than she is right now."

"It was your idea!" Chase cried, staring at him incredulously.

"It was, but if you think about it, malaria doesn't seem likely," Foreman said in an annoyingly placating manner.

"Why not?" Chase asked, looking at Cameron and Foreman expectantly. "Malaria is a parasitic disease, and with all of the surplus nutrients that she's producing for the baby, it would be like a royal feast for the virus! That's probably why she went into an arrested pregnancy the first time."

"But for _months?_" Cameron said doubtfully, looking unconvinced.

"Are you going to say something here?" Chase said to House, seeing him as his last resort.

"Yeah," House said, finally coming into the debate. "You're an idiot. If it was malaria, she wouldn't be in her room chatting with her baby-daddy right now. What else?"

Chase sat back in his chair, frustrated, and tried not to sulk. He wanted to open his mouth and argue, but he knew that being belligerent would only get him in the negatives with House. Well, further in the negatives, anyway.

"Lupus," Foreman suggested.

"It's _never_ lupus!" Chase spoke up, jumping on it. "You tried that last week and it didn't work, remember?"

Foreman frowned. "Just because it hasn't been lupus yet doesn't mean that it couldn't be. Besides, where were you when Cameron and I were working on that diagnosis? Playing Mr. Incredible, I think."

Chase scowled, but said nothing.

"It could be lupus," House allowed, and Chase's mouth fell open in outrage. "What else?"

"Lead poisoning?" Cameron said, completely ignorant of Chase's facial expression.

"Could be," House said with a nod.

"But if she had enough lead in her to make her kidneys fail, it would definitely affect the baby," Chase said, trying again. "We would be seeing developmental problems."

"You're _cranky_ today, Chase," House observed glibly, his eyebrows raised as if this fact surprised him. "Stop being so negative."

Chase took a deep breath and told himself that this was what House wanted. He was trying to get to him, House wanted him to get pissed off. If he didn't know any better, this was House trying to push him away in some sort of bizarre defense mechanism. He resolved to not let his choler rise for the rest of the differential, and then he could go and let out his frustration.

"Okay, go do a blood test for lead levels and toxoplasmosis, do an ultrasound and ask her if she has a cat," House instructed. "Return with good news."

* * *

"Chase?" Cameron asked nervously, watching him over the centrifuge.

"Hm?" Chase said distractedly, his attention focused on the vial of blood before him.

"Just so you know, House was being unfair this morning," she said, her voice catching a little. Chase saw her reflection in the glass, and watched as she struggled to look at both his back and the centrifuge. "I know I didn't say anything in your defense, but—"

"It's no big deal," Chase told her, more of his irritation stemming from her distracting him from his work rather than at what she was saying. "Unfairness is kind of in the contract when you sign on with House."

Cameron sighed, probably in frustration, and fiddled with the controls of the machine. "Yeah, but you're his... Well, he shouldn't be treating you like that. He has no right to push you around just because you're having problems."

"He's House—that's what he does," Chase said tiredly. This conversation was already getting old.

"You have to stand up for yourself, Chase!" Cameron said, her voice suddenly passionate. "You shouldn't let him ride all over you like that."

"Cameron..." Chase warned, knowing exactly where she was headed.

"No! I won't sit around and let him do this to you," Cameron declared. "He's hurting you, he's abusing the emotional power that he has over you, and I can't stand by and watch! He went out last night and had sex with a hooker—and then he shoved it in your face! In front of me and Foreman! Chase, that's not the way that relationships _work!_"

"He's not abusing me," Chase protested, but his mind was haunted with the thought of yesterday and the spectacular bruise that had blossomed on his shoulder. "And I can take care of myself, thanks."

"Chase—"

Chase whirled around and cut her off before she could say another word. "Cameron, stay _out_ of it, all right?"

Cameron looked down, chastened, her expression hurt. She looked back up to him, her eyes pleading with him desperately. "Please, I only want to help," she implored, chewing on her lower lip as she gazed at him.

"I don't need any help," Chase said roughly. He turned back around and continued processing the blood.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Chase successfully managed to avoid House for the majority of the day, only seeing him once or twice when he had to do a differential, and in that short time frame House continued to shoot down any idea that Chase had, but he reserved the personal insults, much to Chase's relief. But even Foreman had noticed that House was being unusually cruel to Chase, and tried to confront him, but Chase brushed him off. He would just wait until later, when he could get House alone, and demand answers then.

Part of him wondered if House was testing him, if he was seeing how far he could push Chase before he went too far. It was decidedly House-like, but if that was what he was doing, Chase didn't know how much longer he would be able to last. He longed for those nights when everything had been simple, before the whole world had beat down their door and pulled them apart... When it was just him and House, and nothing was wrong. Their relationship had been going great, barring the initial start when House had discovered Chase's DNR papers, but then the fire had burnt House's apartment, and everything had just went south.

On the other hand, maybe Wilson had been right. Maybe this was House's way of pushing him away, his way of telling him that he was done and didn't want to do this anymore. It had been just a fling, and sex wasn't worth all of the trouble. That was what everyone had been telling him ever since they'd discovered... Cuddy and Wilson had known House for a long time, and Wilson in particular knew the way House's mind worked. Maybe he had been right. Maybe Chase had just been too—too caught up in the intensity to see it.

Chase decided that he was going to go home tonight. He hadn't been home since Friday, and it was Monday now, and Chase was planning on getting some well-deserved rest. The only thing that might put a stopper in his plans was the fact that House was still rooming with him, and Hose worked no overtime. So whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to deal with House tonight—but Chase thought that it was worth a good night's sleep.

Six o'clock rolled around and Chase decided that enough was enough. He pushed open the door to House's office, where House sat at his desk with his iPod blasting out some strange song that Chase had never heard before.

"_Remembering... your touch... your kiss..." _the voice sang, the song slow and soft. _"I'll find my way... back to you..."_ House had his eyes closed and appeared entirely absorbed in the music, and he hadn't noticed Chase when he'd come in. Or maybe he was just ignoring him.

"House," Chase said, and House's eyes snapped open in surprise. "I'm going home now."

"I'm not," House countered, but his tone was mild.

"You can catch a ride with Wilson," Chase said shortly. "That is, if you haven't pissed him off as well."

House's eyebrows raised questioningly.

"I'll see you later," Chase said, not offering any explanation before he turned around and walked out the door, the lyrics of the music echoing in his ears.

"_I'll find my way back to you, wherever you are..."_

* * *

Chase was alone in his apartment that night for the first time since last Thursday. He felt safe. He felt like he was truly in the one place where no one would bother him, where everything was up to his making and decree. He pulled out a gallon of ice cream and spooned himself a bowl without having anyone tell him that it was unhealthy, or that it was girly to eat ice cream when you were depressed. _Guide To The Galaxy_, and didn't have to hear anyone call him a 'believer'. He was in his sanctuary, at long last.

_One of the things Ford Prefect had always found hardest to understand about humans was..._ His thoughts drifted off to where House could be, but he didn't let them linger. He was probably at the hospital, badgering Wilson to hurry up because he wanted to leave the hospital. Personally, Chase was hoping that he wouldn't come home at all so that he could enjoy this serenity for the rest of the night. Tomorrow, maybe, he would be feeling up to dealing with House, but not tonight.

_...was their habit of continuously stating and repeating the very very obvious, as in _It's a nice day_, or _You're very tall_, or _Oh dear you seem to have fallen down a thirty-foot well, are you all—

The door swung open, and Chase looked to see House standing in the doorway. Trying not to grimace, he moved the bowl of soupy ice cream onto the end table, folded the page that he was currently on and sat up and silently said goodbye to his peaceful evening.

"Hey," he said quietly, watching House shed his coat and limp over to the couch to take off his shoes. Chase scooted over to make room.

House bent over one leg and began untying the laces of his shoe. "Today was a bastard."

"_You_ were a bastard," Chase said tightly, trying not to let the anger in his voice rise.

"I know," House said, pushing off his shoes and sitting back. "I shouldn't—"

"No!" Chase interrupted, House's words springing open a bottle of pent-up emotions that erupting suddenly and painfully. "No, I don't want to hear it. I know that life sucks for you right now—well guess what? It _sucks_ for me too! But I'm not the one being a complete bastard about it, am I?"

House's face tensed indignantly. "I haven't—"

"You haven't what?" Chase rose to his feet, unable to sit still any long. "If anything, my life is _worse_ than yours right now! You were right! I do care what people think—and do you know what people think? They think that you're just using me for the sex! And I'm starting to think that they're right!"

House's mouth fell open, but Chase didn't bother to find out whether it was in surprise to say something, because he went on.

"I'm only in your good graces as long as I do what you say, as long as I conform to what _you_ want!" Chase shouted, becoming increasingly upset as his feeling came out into the open. "And when I don't, you _hurt_ me."

"Look, Chase, I didn't—" House tried, but Chase rounded on him again.

"You _did_. I'm not even talking about last night—I'm talking about today! You... I gave myself to you, and you betrayed me," Chase said, the pain embarrassingly evident in his voice, but he pressed on. "I trusted you. Obviously, that's something that I shouldn't do again."

This time, House gave no protest. He stared at Chase as if seeing him in a whole new light, his blue eyes swirling with some unknown emotion. Then he slowly looked down to the ground, and the lines on his face hardened.

"I'm going to bed," Chase said quietly. "Don't follow me."


	13. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Author's Notes: **Howdy everyone! I'm sad to say that there are only three chapters left to this story... and none of you are going to be able to convince me to add another sequel to this story. Good Lord, it's _huge_ people! Well, for me anyways. Anyways... fun chapter this time. Lots of Chase-Wilson interaction, which I struggled with originally, so I'm sorry if any of this seems a little OOC. I tried. So enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 13  
_(For Whom the Bell Tolls)_  
**

Chase woke up to silence.

This itself was unusual, and not simply because he'd awoken in the loud hospital for the last two mornings, but because he usually woke up to the sound of House snoring like a buzz saw every morning. Sleepily, he squinted and looked over to find that the other half of his bed was empty, and he frowned in confusion. Where was House? Why wasn't—

And then the memories slammed into him like an anvil to the stomach, House's words, the bruise on his shoulder, the song playing in the background, his own harsh words... They spun about in his mind like twisting snakes, and Chase shook his head to try to clear his head of them. It didn't matter now. What was done had been done.

He emerged from his bed and ventured out into the living room, but there was no sleeping House on the couch. There was no House sitting, eating a bowl of cereal and there was no House whistling in the bathroom. It took Chase all of three seconds to realize that House was not in his apartment at all. For a moment, he was worried, but Chase then figured that House must have wanted to avoid a morning confrontation and gone in to work early. Chase didn't think that he'd been at all unfair last night, or that any of his words had been untrue, but he wished that he hadn't lost his temper like he'd done. At least then they might have made some progress.

He thought about calling House, but then he wondered why he would. What he would say when House asked why he was calling. Just because? House didn't buy loads of crap like that. Instead, Chase showered and pulled on some new clothes, grabbed an apple from the counter and headed out the door.

* * *

The first person to greet him at PPTH was Cameron, much to Chase's dismay. She nearly bowled him over as the elevator doors came open, and after apologizing profusely, began quizzing him. 

"Did you and House have a fight last night?" she asked, walking next to him down the hallway.

"No," Chase said. They hadn't, really—it had been more of a 'House-sat-while-I-vented' kind of thing.

"Did House go drinking last night?" she continued, with such promptness that Chase wondered if she'd made up this list up ahead of time.

"No," he said.

"Did _you_ go drinking?" Cameron asked, undeterred.

"I don't drink," Chase responded, wondering if he should wait until the end of the reel of questions to ask what this was about, or if he should interrupt her and ask now.

"Do you know if House had any plans this morning?"

"Coming to work," Chase said. He could no longer resist. "Why are you suddenly so curious?"

"House isn't with you," Cameron explained. "And he isn't here yet, so I was worried that—"

"House isn't here?" Chase interrupted, alarmed.

"Um... No," Cameron said, obviously thrown off. "Didn't he go home with you last night? I thought that he was staying at your place until he could get back on his feet." Cameron looked at him with a confused expression that drew creases on her forehead and made her eyes darken.

"He didn't come home with me—he came home, just not with me. Wilson gave him a ride... I think..." Chase said absentmindedly, his mind off running through the possibilities of where House could be. He could be hiding in the hospital, in Wilson's office or something, or he could... Where? Where did he have to go? His apartment was in ashes, Wilson was living in a hotel room, and House wouldn't go anywhere else if he were living on the streets, begging for food.

"You don't know where he is?" Cameron asked, interrupting Chase's train of thought.

"No idea," Chase admitted. "I assumed that he had left early to hide out in his office."

Cameron looked as if she would have liked to ask why House would feel compelled to hide out in his office, but she didn't. Her confused expression deepened as she spoke. "But I thought that he didn't have a car?" she said, chewing on her bottom lip in thought. "I thought that his car... in the fire..."

Chase stared at her, feeling like the world's biggest idiot as he realized that Cameron was right—House's car was in the shop receiving repairs from the fire damage. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking earlier. How would House have been able to leave, if he didn't have a car? It didn't make any sense; Chase didn't live far enough into the city for him to be able to hail a taxi or walk to a bus stop, House wouldn't have been able to _walk_ any great distance, so the only other way for House to leave was... if he had...

"Wilson," Chase muttered, and left Cameron standing there in the hallway.

* * *

Chase burst into Wilson's office, startling Wilson, but he felt no sympathy or regret. His head was spinning with thoughts of where House could be, what he'd done now, what Wilson had said that made him guilty, even if he hadn't gone and picked up House last night. Wilson had played a part in this, this series of events that had torn him and House apart and climaxed into this betrayal. Part of Chase knew it was a little irrational to blame Wilson for what had gone wrong between him and House, but it made him feel better. It made him feel less guilty. 

"Where's House?" he demanded, his anger making his Australian accent thicker than ever.

"What?" Wilson said blankly, staring up at him in bewilderment from behind his desk.

"House," Chase repeated impatiently. "Six feet tall, brown hair, blue eyes, fucked up right leg, hates patients and—"

"I got that," Wilson snapped in irritation. "What's he done now?"

"Did he call you last night?" Chase asked, ignoring Wilson's question.

"No," Wilson said, looking genuinely clueless. "Why? Chase, what happened?" He stood up from his desk, concern melting into his features. "Did he do something to you?"

"He's gone," Chase said stiffly, deciding for now that Wilson wasn't secretly harboring House. "We—we had a tiff last night. I went to bed and when I woke up, he was gone. He's not here at the hospital."

"A... A tiff?" Wilson asked, and Chase could see the he was struggling to suppress a smile.

"A fight, all right?" Chase said sharply, not in the mood to be laughed at for his Aussie lingo. "I thought that maybe he'd called you, gone to your hotel room. But I guess not."

"No, he didn't," Wilson said, his brow creasing in thought. "But... what was the fight about?"

"Nothing," Chase said shortly.

"Chase, I only want to help," Wilson said with a pained look on his face, as if he was wrestling with himself over something.

"It wasn't really a fight," Chase said uncomfortably, while glancing off to a spot on the wall instead of looking at Wilson. "It was more like, I yelled at him while he sat there and then I told him not to—" Chase stopped. "I told him that I was going to bed, and not to follow me. Then I left him sitting there."

"He could have taken it as a hint to get out," Wilson said, more to himself than to Chase, looking to his fingers as he spoke. "You shouldn't have said something that—" I don't think that Wilson would say the second sentence. The Head of Oncology and a man with 3 wives simply has to have more tact and common sense then that… (Ok, granted that could be why the wives keep leaving, but you understand what I'm getting at.)

"_I get it_, all right?" Chase exploded suddenly. "You _hate_ me, you think that I'm a lovesick Romeo who doesn't belong here! I _got_ that! You've made it clear! Can we move on now?" Chase stood there, breathing hard from his outburst, and waited silently for an answer. He half expected Wilson to deny it.

Wilson's face tightened for a moment, as if he were holding himself back from saying something, and then he nodded. "Okay."

Exhaling, Chase nodded to himself and stared down at his shoes. He would have to work with Wilson to find House, obviously, because he didn't know anything about any old friends House might have run to or his favorite hangouts when he wanted to escape... There wasn't a point in fighting, because that would only waste time. He had to keep calm.

"Chase?" Wilson asked, his head cocked to the side slightly as he looked him up and down. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," Chase said. What more could Wilson possibly have to say?

"What, exactly, are you planning on—"

But Wilson was cut off as the door to his office opened, and Cuddy stepped into the small room. She was looking particularly harried, and her arms held a stack of manila file folders. Chase stepped back, allowing her room to walk in and approach Wilson's desk, and she stopped and looked at the two men before her.

"Oh, good," she said. "Wilson, these are yours." She placed the stack of file folders on his desk, where they blew a few loose papers out of the way with a _whoosh_, and then she turned to Chase. "Where's House?"

"Dunno," Chase said nastily. "He's your employee, isn't he?"

"Chase..." Cuddy said pleadingly, her face slightly exasperated as she looked at him. "Just tell me where he is."

"_I_ don't know," Chase said, his voice petulant. "I wish I did. He disappeared in the night—wasn't there when I woke up this morning. Sorry."

Cuddy looked surprised. "Oh," she said, processing this slowly. "Okay. Well, find him."

"That's what I'm _trying_ to do," Chase said, his voice making it clear that she was the one hindering him at the moment.

"I know you're not happy with me right now," Cuddy said, her tone placating, "but there's really nothing I can do about it. I am sorry that you and House are having issues, though."

"That's not your business," Chase said coldly, hating the way that Cuddy's words seemed almost patronizing.

"All right," Cuddy sighed, looking at him with... pity?

"Well," Wilson remarked with a politely surprised expression on his face as Cuddy shut the door. "You're certainly very nice to your boss."

Chase looked at him, surprise on his own face. "You think that I'm not upset with you? The only reason I'm dealing with _you_ is because you probably have an inkling of where House is."

"What have _I _done?" Wilson asked. "Cuddy's the one who spends her time gallivanting after money and benefactors. I only—"

"Sneak behind your best friend's back," Chase threw back. "That's a _saintly_ act, certainly, I do it all the time!"

"Chase..." Wilson said, but then did not continue. He put a hand on his forehead, looking generally tired and like he would like very much to go back to bed. Chase watched as he heaved a great sigh, leaned back against the wall and muttered something that suspiciously like _'oy vey'_. "I'm sorry that you had to be the one that House picked."

Chase was felt the telltale sparks of anger at his words, and what they implied, but held his tongue. Wilson considered him a victim, someone who was too stupid to realize what was good for him and what wasn't, and nothing he said was likely to change that. "Okay," he said. "What were you going to ask me? Before Cuddy came in?"

"I was going..." Wilson trailed off. "I was wondering what you were planning on doing, once you found House?"

"What do you mean?" Chase asked, but part of him knew very well what Wilson was talking about.

"If things were bad enough that he left, why are you going after him?" Wilson was staring at him with a mixture of confusion and frustration, and his tone began to pick up volume. "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish—you know that House isn't the type do heart-to-hearts. All that's going to happen is another fight; even you should know that!"

Chase said nothing. What _was_ he going to say when he found House? He wasn't going to apologize, because he had nothing to be sorry for unless you counted losing his temper. House had hurt him, both physically and mentally, one too many times—that was the reason that he'd lost it in the first place. Simply because House had run away, did it mean that everything was alright now? It wouldn't be right to forgive him, because there wasn't anything to say that it wouldn't happen again. It would make much more sense to just leave House alone.

"Chase?" Wilson prodded gently.

Chase started slightly. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I can't just... let him leave me."

"You already did," Wilson said softly, pointedly. "Leave him alone for a while. Let me talk to him."

"No," Chase said instantly.

"What I don't understand," Wilson said calmly, "is why you seem so willing to forgive him for everything that he's done to you."

"I'm not," Chase denied stonily.

"Yes, you are," Wilson insisted. "If you weren't, then you wouldn't be so desperate to find him."

"That's not true," Chase protested, but he knew that it was futile. "I can't just forgive him—he's House, and he's never going to willingly change. He's got to learn..."

"_You're_ addicted to him," Wilson said, a wondering expression making his eyes widen. "I was wrong—it's not House who's pushing everything, it's you! You can't get enough of him, you _need_ to be with him, even if he is hurting you! I can't believe it..."

"I'm not _addicted_ to him," Chase said, feeling a rise of disgust at the words. "That's insane!"

"It's true," Wilson countered plainly. "You're willing to be used for sex, to be House's punching bag, if it lets you stay close to him."

"House told you about that?" Chase asked him, his head snapping up to stare at Wilson. When House had told Wilson about what he'd done? Why? Had Wilson said something that had made House lash out so viciously yesterday?

"About what?" Wilson frowned in thought. "Oh—shit—you mean that he _hit_ you? I only meant that metaphorically! What did he do to you? Chase, if he's been throwing you around... I never thought..."

"He didn't hit me," Chase said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "It was nothing. Forget I said it."

"You _are_ addicted to him," Wilson said in amazement. "My God..."

Chase opened his mouth to say something when his phone rang in an obnoxiously loud tone, and he was forced to stop and look for it. Going through all of his coat pockets, Chase then realized that it was in his pants and pulled it out, but froze. He stared at the screen for a long moment while the phone continued to ring, hardly daring to believe his own eyes.

_Caller: Gregory House_, it read in bold letters.

Chase opened the phone, fumbling in his rush, and demanded, "Where the _hell_ have you been?" Forget formal greetings.

"Um... Robert?" a male voice, which definitely did not belong to House, said nervously. "Is this Robert Chase?"

"Yes," Chase said slowly. Wilson was staring at him intently, mouthing the word 'House' with a hopeful expression on his face. When Chase shook his head, Wilson's face fell in disappointment, and he looked down to the ground. "Who are you?" Chase asked intently, returning to the conversation. "Why are you using House's cell phone?"

"I... I'm sorry—my name is Chris. Chris Wellington. Um, you probably don't know who I am, of course, but I was... Well... Greg and I were together..." the man said, stumbling over his words. "For a while..."

"Wait," Chase said as realization dawned. "You're him! House told me about you—he said that you left him seven years ago." He ignored Wilson, who was clearly baffled and had no idea what Chase was talking about. "Why do you have his phone? Do you know where he is?"

"He called me last night," Chris said, and Chase felt a stir of hope at his words. "I picked him up from an apartment over in west Princeton, and he was a total wreck. Wouldn't tell me anything, typically, but whatever happened to him, it wasn't good. I'm worried about him."

"House _gave_ you his cell phone? Is he with you right now?" Chase asked, excitement making his voice eager and fast. Maybe House hadn't done anything crazy, maybe he was just hiding out with Chris; maybe he was going to be calm, cooled down, and maybe things could... work out.

"No," Chris said. Chase felt a rock of lead fall in his stomach. "He had me drop him off at some hole-in-the-wall motel, but he forgot his cell phone in the car. You were first on his list of contacts—I'm afraid for him. I think that he might do... something... rash."

"Something rash?" Chase repeated. "Like what? He just ran away from the only home he's got, and you think that he could do something _rash_? He's already done that!"

"Just—is he still friends with that Wilson guy? Send him over, just to be safe. Please. Greg was in really bad shape," Chris said, his voice pleading. "I mean, he was really—"

"All right," Chase said quickly, not wanting to hear anymore about what his words had done to House. He knew that they had been justified, that he had every right to shout at House, but he hadn't realized that House would take it so badly. "Where was the motel at?"

"Next to a 7-11 on Edgewater. Thank you so much—I hate to—"

"It's fine," Chase said, cutting him off. Now that he had House's location, he was determined to go out and find him as soon as possible. It didn't matter that he had no idea what he was going to do or say—that would come when he saw House. One thing at a time. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Chris said.

Chase hung up and looked at Wilson, debating whether or not he wanted to tell him. The other man's face was resigned, as if he knew that Chase held the information he needed, and that made a wisp of guilt rise up in Chase. Sighing, he put the phone away.

"I know where House is. C'mon."

* * *

Chase knew where Edgewater street was only because House had liked a bar on the corner of it, and he had dragged Chase in there on multiple occasions. Wilson agreed to go in Chase's car, as it was closer to the hospital and the weather was horribly bitter, and for the first five minutes the ride was silent. However, the silence did not last very long. 

"Who called you?" Wilson asked suddenly.

"In your office?" Chase asked, as if he didn't know which phone call Wilson was talking about.

"Yes," Wilson said. "You said that House had known him... seven years ago?"

Chase nodded. "Chris—he was with House seven years ago." He resisted the urge to say that smugly and rub it in that he knew something about House that Wilson didn't. "When Chris left him, he found Stacy a week later."

"And House called him?" Wilson asked, clearly surprised by this.

"I guess so," Chase said. "Don't ask me why he didn't call _you_. I never told him about that time you and I spoke."

"I did," Wilson said heavily. "Saturday night. He didn't take that too well."

"You told him that he was using me for sex?" Chase said, trying to imagine the conversation in his head. "Well, that would certainly explain his bad mood yesterday."

"I didn't say _that_," Wilson said irritably. "I just said that I thought he was fooling himself if he thought that things were going to work this time around. One of you was going to back out at the first sign that things weren't working out."

Chase slammed on the brakes, ignoring the people that blared their horns furiously, and turned to stare at Wilson. "You said _what?_"

"You heard me," Wilson said uncomfortably. "I told him that—"

"_Fuck!_" Chase shouted, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel. "He was fucking testing me! I don't _believe_ it! The bastard wanted to see how far he could push me... God _dammit!_"

"He was... what?" Wilson asked, looking a little frightened at his outburst.

"Testing me," Chase spat. "He was throwing everything that he had to see if I would leave—and I did! I told him to shove off! I am so _fucking stupid..._"

There was a ringing silence, while Chase stewed and Wilson shifted uncomfortably. Cars whizzed past them, swerving around the stopped car in the middle of the road, but Chase could not bring himself to notice or care. The hooker, spitting out his personal life to Cameron and Foreman, shooting down his every idea... They had been tests. House wanted to see if Chase would back out like Wilson had said—and what had Chase done? He'd lost his temper, told House to get lost... Wilson had been right.

"Shit," he muttered, unable to believe the situation he was in.

"Um, Chase," Wilson said hesitantly. "You might want to, uh, get off the road? I can see a mall parking lot up ahead, if you want to—"

"No," Chase said, taking a deep breath and focusing on the road. "It's all right. We're going to Edgewater."

* * *

Chris's description of the motel as a hole-in-the-wall was quite accurate, Chase discovered as they pulled into the pothole-ridden parking lot that sat before the grungy motel. There was an ice machine outside, but the door was open, revealing a nest of something that had definitely taken over the little machine, and there was no way that the brick on the outer walls of the building had been washed in at least two years. Chase wrinkled his nose at the reek that blew into his face as he opened the door. 

"Nice place," Wilson commented as they walked up what could have, possibly, passed for a lobby a decade ago.

Bitter winds whipped Chase's hair about fiercely, sending it flying about in front of his face. He nodded but said nothing, and pushed open the door. Walking inside, he found that the lobby was surprisingly well heated and that the desk sat before a squat woman with a mole above her left eye and too-red lipstick. She gave him a grim smile.

"Excuse us," Wilson said he approached her, while Chase walked at his heels. "I'm looking for a friend of mine."

"Name?" the woman asked, pulling out a leather notebook and opening it to a middle page.

"House. Gregory House," Wilson said.

The woman ran a finger down the lines of dark scrawls, finally landing on the last name listed and tapping her finger twice upon it. "There he is. House, room 113—tell him that if wants the room past noon, he's got to pay up for another night."

"We'll tell him," Chase said. "Do you have a spare key?"

The woman stared at him. "You could _knock_?" she suggested, as if talking to a mentally retarded child.

Chase almost said that he doubted that House would let them in, but then he realized that this might arise her suspicions, so instead he nodded and pretended to be sheepish. "Of course."

He and Wilson left in search of room 113, and as Chase heard the door shut behind him, spoke up in a low voice. "You know that House isn't going to answer a knock."

"You never know..." Wilson said, and for a moment, they were united under the same cause and both grinned. Quickly, Chase looked away and felt furious with himself for forgetting everything that Wilson had said, everything that he'd done.

Room 113 was relatively close to the lobby, and was thankfully on the first floor (thankfully, because the staircases leading to the second looked ready to crumble at the slightest touch). The door was made of metal, but had rusted away from the handle and the bottom foot of the door. Chase knocked once, and then stood back as Wilson banged on the door harder and called House's name.

"House!" Wilson bellowed, his fist slamming against the freezing metal.

There was no answer from inside the room.

"Maybe she got the room wrong," Wilson said, giving it one last knock before he slumped against the door in defeat. "Or maybe he's just sleeping."

Chase hesitated, and then he pulled out his wallet. "Here—move."

Wilson gave him a funny look and stepped away, allowing Chase to come forward with a diaper pin in his hand. As Chase crouched before the door and began wiggling the pin into the hole, which was, thankfully, a tumble lock and could therefore be opened through scrubbing.

"You're picking the lock?" Wilson asked, stunned by this prospect. "Tell me that House didn't teach you that..."

"My mother did," Chase said simply. He did not say that the liquor cabinet in his house had been kept locked, and after his father began watching what his mother drank more carefully, he had become her delivery boy for a while. "Give me a moment..."

"Good Lord," Wilson muttered as Chase finally got it, and the handle twisted over to the right. Gently, the door swung open with help from the wicked winds that were still blowing across the parking lot.

"House?" Chase called cautiously, daring to take a step near the door. When there was no reply, he glanced to Wilson before using his hand to push the door open the rest of the way and stepping inside.

He was met with the sight of a single, twin bed, a lamp that wasn't turned on, and a dusty television. Light poured through the small, grimy window and illuminated the dust particles that were floating about in the air. The carpeting, which might as well have been a hardwood floor for the amount of cushioning that was under his feet, was spotted with dark stains whose origins Chase could only guess at. And House lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"House?" Chase called softly, wondering why House had not told him to go away yet.

House blinked several times, and then turned his head lazily to look over at Chase, his blue eyes unfocused. "Hmm?"

"Are you all right?" Chase asked cautiously. He felt Wilson come up behind him, and he took a few more steps into the room so that they could both enter. The door was shut behind him.

"You're Gabriel, right?" House asked, blinking again and reaching up to scratch his forearm. "You're pretty... I think I like blonde pretties..."

"Oh, Christ," Wilson said in exasperation. He walked up to the bed and picked up a small wooden box, which contained a recently-plunged needle. "He's high."


	14. Damage, Inc

**Author's Notes: **Bonjour, mon amis! How are you? A lot of people liked the last chapter, and I'm hoping that this one goes over just as well. It's not my favorite chapter, but I like it better than the last one. Again, enormous karma and gratitude for my beta. Happy Memorial Day to all you Americans, and enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 14  
_(Damage, Inc.)_  
**

Chase stared at Wilson for a second, and then looked over to where House was lolling about on the bed blissfully. There was no doubt that House was high, because under usual circumstances, he wouldn't be caught dead muttering what he was saying right now.

"What was in there?" he asked Wilson, talking about the needle. Chase moved to take House's pulse, but House swatted him away drunkenly and mumbled something about Glinda the Good Witch.

"I'm not sure... I know he kept stashes of morphine squirreled away for emergencies, but..." Wilson trailed off, staring down at House.

"It would have been burned in the fire," Chase finished unnecessarily. He finally got a grip on House's arm and held his fingers to the man's wrist, counting in his head. "Pulse is weak, but I don't think that he overdosed."

"I'm calling Cuddy," Wilson said, pulling out his cell phone.

"No!" Chase said immediately, dropping House's hand and reaching over to stop Wilson, who looked up at him in surprise.

"She has a right to know that her employee won't be coming in today because he decided to go get high," Wilson said, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"Don't cry for me... _Argentina!_" House began to sing, his arm drifting up into the air hazily, as if he were reaching for something.

Rolling his eyes at House, Chase responded, "Can't you just tell her that House isn't coming in?"

Wilson gazed at him for a moment, and then he shook his head slowly. "Seriously. You want to protect him, even after everything that he did to you?" He sounded both amazed and confused, but his hand was putting the cell phone away despite this.

Chase shrugged. "The last thing we need is Cuddy even further up his ass..."

"The truth is, I never left you!" House warbled, unconcerned with anything else besides his baritone rendition of _Evita_. "All through my... wild... days..." .

"Well, we should at least get him out of here. Preferably before he crashes," Wilson said, and Chase closed his eyes in relief. He had won one battle, and that would be enough for now. "I would take him to my hotel room, but if he throws up on anything, the maids won't be very happy with me and I'm kind of getting a discount... That could be subject to change."

"My apartment's fine," Chase agreed, after a moment's hesitation.

Working together, they managed to get House (who continued to belt out Broadway unconcernedly) into Chase's car and sitting in a seat properly. Wilson sat in the back of the car with him, ensuring that he didn't try to do anything ridiculous, but halfway to Chase's apartment House's singing came to an end as he fell asleep, signaling that his high was over and that he would be waking up soon.

"We can't pick him up," Chase said as he drove, glancing at the sleeping House in the rearview mirror. "He's easily 200 not counting the dead weight, and if we somehow managed that the pain in his leg would wake him up and put him agony for hours."

"You picked him up, didn't you?" Wilson asked while he adjusted House's head, which was rolling about on his shoulder. "In the fire, they said that you went in there and got him."

"That was... adrenaline," Chase said uncomfortably. "But I think that we should just let him sit in the car until he wakes up... There's not much else we can do." He turned down his street, and could see his apartment door coming closer as he began scanning for a close parking spot. Luckily, he found one that was right outside of his door.

"All right," Wilson said as Chase pulled into the spot and killed the engine. "I'm going to go call my secretary and reschedule all my appointments—something tells me that this is going to take a while."

"You don't have to stay," Chase offered before Wilson could get out of the car. "I could drive you back to the hospital."

"No," Wilson said thoughtfully. "You two are going to need some kind of referee." He quickly pushed open the door and left, before Chase could utter a word of protest.

"Great," Chase muttered, turning around to face the snoozing House.

He hated the way that House turned to drugs and alcohol to escape his troubles. Chase didn't like the idea of being out of control, of being unable to know what you were saying or doing, and when you coupled that with years he'd spent watching his mother waste away under it, he just generally had an aversion to anything that resembled drugs or alcohol. House, on the other hand, had no problem with making an ass out of himself and getting drunk. It was just one of the many things that they didn't agree on, but had never spoken about.

Maybe that was the problem—they had never bothered with the details. It had all been so fast, so intense and harried that neither one had bothered to think about their differences. When no one knew. It was easy to dismiss a fight because if they broke up then there wouldn't be anyone who knew or cared, but now that it was common knowledge, there was certain pressure to beat everyone's expectations and stay together, to not fight and get along perfectly. After all, fighting would only be proving to everyone that they _didn't_ belong together, and that they had been right to say the relationship was a mistake. Chase wondered if it would have made a difference if he'd told House about his conversation with Wilson. Would House have assuaged his doubts, or would he have strengthened them?

Hell, he still didn't know the answer to that now. Watching House now, Chase saw that he had lavender circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and wondered if he'd slept at all last night. He felt a sadistic flicker of pleasure at the thought, but it was extinguished by guilt—he'd been the cause of that, after all.

Maybe Wilson was right.

Maybe he was addicted to House.

Would a normal person feel guilty for rightfully yelling at someone? Chase knew, somewhere in the distant fog of his brain, that he had been wronged and was therefore in the right when he had yelled at House... But did it make it wrong, then, to not want to hold a grudge? Wilson certainly seemed to think so, but Chase wasn't so sure. Besides, it wasn't like he could help it. So he was addicted to House. Was that really all bad?

A rapping on the window made him start, and Chase looked up to see Wilson standing outside the car with his cell phone out. Chase rolled down the window, blinking hard in the sharp wind that bit into his face.

"Cuddy wants to talk to you," Wilson said, holding out the cell phone.

"You _called_ her?" Chase said, not taking the phone as he stared up at Wilson in outrage. "I thought that we agreed—"

"Yeah, I know," Wilson cut him off, his tone irritated. "She had the secretary call her up if I called in to say that I was taking the rest of the day off."

"She knows you," Chase pointed out, to Wilson's annoyance. He took the phone in one hand and started rolling up the window. "Get back in here, it's freezing cold outside."

Wilson went around the car to get in, and Chase put the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Chase," Cuddy said. For a moment, Chase wondered why he was 'Dr. Chase' but House was only 'House', but figured that it was an inconvenient time to ask. "How are you?"

"Spectacular," Chase said dryly. "How are you?"

"Listen," Cuddy continued, ignoring Chase's query. "I just wanted to explain some things to you."

"Really?" Chase asked, settling back into his seat to listen.

"Yes. First of all, I know that I haven't been entirely fair to you and House for the last few days, but I want you to know—"

"Hang on," Chase interrupted, catching sight of House, who had begun to mutter something. He took the phone from his ear and glanced at Wilson, and then leaned closer, trying to hear what he was muttering.

"_Per sogni e... per... chimere e per castelli... in aria... l'anima ho milionaria..._" House was mumbling, almost incoherently, and if Chase hadn't been forced to listen to his opera music for the last month and a half, he would have thought that House was muttering nonsense.

"It's Italian," he said to Wilson. "From _La Boheme_, I think... Act I." Chase had never shared House's strong passion for opera, which House had always claimed was because he didn't appreciate a musical talent when he saw one. Chase had usually responded with some sort of comment about House's piano skills and how they were better than a lousy CD of fat men singing, and things typically went past conversation from that point.

"If you say so," Wilson said, glancing at House. "I don't think he's starting to wake up, though. He's probably just talking in his sleep."

Chase nodded, and was about to return to his conversation with Cuddy when House suddenly jerked violently, and he dropped the phone in alarm. House jerked again, and then curled into a half-fetal position, his hands clutching a seatbelt nearby, and began to whimper.

"House!" Chase shouted, pointlessly, because House was obviously not going to respond. "What's he doing?" he asked Wilson frantically, wondering if he'd ever seen House come off of a morphine high before.

"He's probably coming off of the endorphins," Wilson said, his face tense as he looked at House. "That means that the pain is returning, and it's going to be a shock to his brain. Hopefully, it won't wake him up."

Chase winced, thinking of how bad the pain must be—especially because House hadn't taken his usual supply of Vicodin due to his high. "There isn't anything we can do?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"No," Wilson said heavily, looking at his friend resignedly. "It's his own damn fault, the bastard..."

Chase took one more look at House, and then he picked up the phone and brought it to his ear. "Sorry about that," he apologized quickly. "Got distracted."

"It's fine," Cuddy said. "I have a meeting I have to get to right now, so could I talk to you later? There's no way I stand a chance of getting through to House, and if you could… mediate? Even just a little bit? I would really appreciate it."

"Depends," Chase said mildly. "If you convince me, then I can convince him."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, sounding enormously relieved. "Don't tell him I said this, but you're the best thing that's happened to House in five years. I meant it when I said that I was happy for you two."

"Of course," Chase said, not wanting to say that he thought Cuddy was a bag of bullshit, because he rather liked his job. "I'll be in tomorrow."

Cuddy hung up, and Chase closed the cell phone and handed it back to Wilson, stealing another glance back at House, who was still writhing in agony. There was nothing he could do about it, and that was probably the worst part.

"What did she want?" Wilson asked as he put the cell phone in his pocket. He didn't seem as concerned about House as Chase was.

"To apologize, grovel, tell me what a great thing I was doing," Chase said, shrugging. "Pretty much what she does all day long with her stupid sponsors. She wants to talk with me."

"You know, if you and House don't—don't make it past today, she's going to be furious with the both of you," Wilson said delicately.

"I realize that," Chase said with a scowl, which faded as he heard House moan again. "How long is it going to take for him to wake up?"

Wilson looked at him incredulously. "We've only been in here for ten minutes," he explained slowly. "It could take hours."

"I know, " Chase said, sitting back in his seat heavily and exhaling slowly. "I just hate to see him like this."

Wilson sighed and put his head in his hand. "It's not right," he said, hand muffling his voice. "You should be _mad_ at him. You should be glad to see him hurting! He hurt you, didn't he?"

"What is that, third grade logic?" Chase retorted, not in the mood to get into the 'addicted' conversation. "Just because I was mad at him doesn't mean that I want to see him in pain. And don't say that—"

"You are!" Wilson protested, staring at him. "I can't get over it—it's not _healthy_, Chase. You shouldn't be with him after everything that he said to you, and you shouldn't be feeling guilty that you didn't pass his stupid test! House is an idiot if he thinks that _anyone_ would pass that test, and that he was willing to subject you to that on a mere whim should say something about—"

"Leave it alone!" Chase said furiously. "It's none your business what I choose to do!"

Wilson's face grew stubborn. "Not if it's hurting you. I don't care if—"

"I'm not addicted to him, all right? I _love_ him!" Chase shouted, the words tearing from his mouth before he could even think about them, and as he heard them, his mind froze in shock.

Wilson looked stunned, and he sat there with his mouth partially open while Chase tried to comprehend what he'd just said. What the hell had he just said? Was it even true? Had he just said it to shut Wilson up, or had he meant it? Where had that even _come_ from? The thought hadn't entered his wildest dreams, he'd been ready to agree with Wilson about his addiction up until that point... So why...

"Hey, what's with the silence?" came a hoarse voice came from the back of the car.

Chase's head snapped around so fast that his neck cracked. "House?" he said, staring at the man whose eyes were weakly cracked open, his body as limp as a boned fish.

"Declarations of love aren't usually followed by stunned silences, you know," House cracked, his voice barely a whisper.

For a second, he could only sit there like a gaping fish, but then he came to his senses. "I hate you," Chase managed to get out, his words sounding strangled, and he got on the seat on his knees so that he could see House without having to twist his body.

"There's a... 180 for you," House said. His eyes glanced up to Wilson, who was watching him silently. "Hey..."

"Hey?" Wilson repeated. "You run away, get strung off your ass, make me hunt your ass down and drag you into this car, and all I get is a _hey_?"

House blinked hazily, which, Chase supposed, was a substitute for a shrug.

"You go ahead and have your fun with Chase. You and I are going to talk later," Wilson said sternly, and his eyes were alight with a plethora of emotions, so many that they were unidentifiable to Chase.

Wilson slammed the car door shut as he left, and went up to make himself comfortable in Chase's apartment. Chase watched him go up the walkway and open the door, which was unlocked for some reason, and enter the apartment before he turned back to face House. For a moment, he wondered if House was waiting for him to start, or if he'd just fallen asleep, when House spoke.

"Can we not talk about this?" he asked quietly.

"What would you rather talk about?" Chase asked sardonically. "The weather?"

"I don' wanna talk..." House mumbled, his eyes closing as his strength seemed to disappear.

"Well then what do you suggest we do?" Chase asked, regretting his words immediately as a sly grin formed on House's face, and though he did not open his eyes, it was clear what he was thinking. "I don't think so. Besides, Wilson could walk out here at any moment."

"So what?" House muttered, and Chase could tell that he was feigning the exhaustion now. "It would wake me up..."

"No," Chase said flatly.

"Spoilsport," House said, opening his eyes again. "Fine. Talk away."

Chase rolled his eyes, but knew that he had to be the one who initiated this. "All right," he started hesitantly. "I think—I think you're an _idiot_ if you think that you had a right to put me through that. I'm not one of your lab experiments and I'm not one of your patients! This might be a newsflash to you, House, but I can leave whenever I want to."

"You're talking about... yesterday?" House asked slowly, squinting in confusion.

"Yeah," Chase said, his anger back in full force now. "Wilson said that I was going to leave you, and you had to prove that he was wrong. You thought that by pushing me to the limit, you could ensure that I would never leave you. And it didn't _work_. Shocked?"

"Yes," House admitted, his eyes partially open now. "But I—"

"No, I'm not done," Chase interrupted, more words still bursting to come out of his mouth. "And then you _left _me!"

"Hey!" House said, his eyes springing open in defiance. He pushed himself up on his elbow and scowled. "I didn't leave you! You were the one who told me to get out—don't give me that shit! I was just doing what you wanted me to!"

"I didn't tell you to _leave!_" Chase said indignantly. "I told you not to follow me—in meaning that you should sleep on the couch, not leave the damn city and go try to kill yourself! Don't try to pin this on me, because I'm not the one who suddenly decided to see how deep he could cut before I'd scream."

"But you _wanted_ me to leave, and I was just—"

"No, I didn't!" Chase shouted. "I didn't want you to _leave!_ All I wanted to do was have a little time to myself—you took it the wrong way and it was _your _fault. Not mine."

"Yeah, well, you got your time alone," House said bitterly. "And you're about to get some more, because I'm leaving. I never wanted this, anyways."

Chase stared at him for a second, letting the full effect of his words sink in before he spoke, he voice betraying the hurt he felt. "You can barely see straight. You can't leave."

"Watch me," House said, his eyes flashing dangerously. He pushed himself up on his elbow and reached out towards the door handle, intent on grabbing it, but Chase knew that he didn't stand a chance of doing anything more than pushing the door open for he was still too drugged to properly stand or go anywhere. But House persisted nevertheless, his fingertips brushing against the handle but unable to open it.

"Then the only thing that I want to know is _why_. Why did you kiss me that night?" Chase asked, his voice painfully revealing the emotional storm that was ripping through him, and he watched House furiously try to grasp the handle. "You never seemed to care about me before, and this whole time you've just been leading me on, right?. Is this all a game to you? The first time—I asked you before, and you wouldn't fucking _answer_ me." To his horror, Chase could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and blinked hard to try to suppress them. "Why? Why didn't you just _tell_ me that you didn't... want... Saved me the trouble of..." His throat had tightened beyond speech.

"I was high, all right?" House muttered, not looking at him but instead at the floor. He'd given up on trying to reach the handle.

"What?" Chase said, his voice strangled and broken.

"That night. We'd lost our patient, it was New Years Day, and the Vicodin just wasn't working... The morphine did," House said quietly, as if he almost didn't want Chase to hear. "You were there and I had no clue which way was up, but I knew that I was lonely and you were single. So I..."

"I should have figured," Chase said , feeling as he might start throwing up and sobbing at the same time. "I should have figured that a _fucking bastard_ like you wouldn't ever—I shouldn't have ever gone after you! I've had enough of this, and I've had enough of you! I'm leaving!"

And he left House in the car, not caring that it was cold outside and that House was virtually helpless, and wrenched open the door to his apartment. He brushed past Wilson and slammed his bedroom door shut and sat down on the bed, breathing hard. He was through. Even House wasn't worth all this.


	15. Human

**Author's Notes: **Wow. Lots of reviews for the last chapter - thanks guys! We're nearly finished here, I regret to say. Just one chapter left... However, _this _chapter has been (and still is) the bane of my existence. It bothers me, despite reassurances from my beta, and reworking it several times. Hope you enjoy it regardless, though! We might finally be able to convince some people that Wilson isn't all evil. I did work hard on it, so remember that as you read!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 15  
_(Human)_  
**

"What did you say to him?" Wilson demanded as he climbed in the passenger side.

He had appeared out of nowhere, interrupting House's game of counting the number of threads in the seatbelt and making him jump.

"Me?" House asked, delaying the time until he had to answer the question.

"Yes," Wilson said flatly. "You did something. What?"

"What makes you think that it was me?' House asked, pretending to be offended at Wilson's words.

"Because the kid is _obsessed_ with you, and you'd have to do something pretty stupid to get him to leave you like that," Wilson said matter-of-factly, but his eyes were still hard with blame and anger.

House took a minute to figure out that 'the kid' was Chase, and then rolled his eyes. "I told him that I didn't want to talk, but he insisted. It went fine until he decided to try and blame this all on me, and we fought. I guess."

Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, it wasn't _all_ my fault," House protested, trying to keep the mood light. "I thought that he wanted me to leave—he's like a damn woman! He says 'leave', and then I get yelled at for not knowing that 'leave' really meant 'stay'!"

Wilson closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, and House felt a mixture of annoyance and guilt. So maybe he should have been a little less rash about things, but it didn't mean that Wilson had the right to treat him like a disobedient child. But he kept his mouth shut, because he didn't want to have both Chase and Wilson not speaking to him. He smashed an old french-fry into the floor of Chase's car petulantly.

"So that's it then?" Wilson finally said. "You're just going to let him go?"

"Well, I'm not going after him," House said moodily, twisting his foot so that the potato mush went around in a little circle on the grey floor.

"Don't you want him back?" Wilson asked delicately. "You don't think that he's worth it?"

"He's a stubborn little shit," House said carelessly, but Wilson's words affected him more than he let on. Was he really willing to just let Chase go over one fight? Then again, he'd been the one who started it. He'd been the one dragging Chase down since the beginning, and he'd done nothing but hurt him. This had to be for the best.

"So are you," Wilson retorted, and his tone was pointed, as if he were trying imply something. "I'd hate for the two of you to lose this. What you had."

"And what did we have?" House snorted, thinking of all the fights they'd had. Maybe Chase had been right about him. Maybe he'd just been in it for the sex.

"You..." Wilson stopped and stared at him for a minute. "You don't realize what it was like watching the two of you, do you? There was a connection between you and Chase. It made you _happy_, House—even I could tell that!"

House paused in his mashing of the french-fry and stared at the ground. He did want nothing more than for things to be like they were a month ago, before the fire and before everyone had found out, when he and Chase were happy. But he'd screwed up any chance of that ever happening again with his stupid little test and his words and everything that he'd done... Chase had every right to leave.

"House?" Wilson said. He seemed to have noticed the fact that House was no longer making a mess on the floor, and House quickly resumed.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he muttered, not looking up at Wilson. "He wouldn't listen to anything I had to say—and he's right. It's just better this way."

"You're in denial," Wilson stated, and House suddenly wanted to kick him. "You're going to leave Chase the way that you left Stacy—for what, House? For your own misery? This is so typical of you... You would kick Chase out to the curb just because things got too difficult, before he dragged you into some new place that was too—too scary for you to handle! You're a coward, House, if you think that it's easier to not care. I hope you're—"

"Leave it alone, all right!" House snapped, his head coming up to scowl at Wilson. "It's _my_ fault that this happened, and I know it! I don't care whether I'm miserable or happy, okay? It's _Chase!_ I keep hurting him, and I don't want to do that anymore—it's just better to let him go! Do you think that it's what I _want_?"

"Well, _apparently_, it is," Wilson said angrily. "You're willing to sit here and blame yourself like some kind of masochist—if you really cared about Chase, you'd be with him right now!"

"What would you know?" House asked furiously. "He doesn't want to see me right now, and he's right! I only want him to be happy, and I can't give him that!"

"Well, you should at least tell him that you're doing this because you want him to _'be happy'_," Wilson said bitingly. "You owe him that much."

"He'll get over it," House insisted, trying not to listen to the part of him that was agreeing with Wilson. He knew that this would leave Chase completely broken, but he'd see that it was for the best later. When the hurt passed.

"He loves you!" Wilson said incredulously. "He's not going to just walk away from this. Chase doesn't have the ability to stop giving a shit on the drop of a dime, unlike you, and it's—"

"Weren't you the one who thought that we were a sex couple?" House interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore of Wilson's words.

"Weren't _you_ the one who said that I didn't understand, that Chase was different?" Wilson threw back brashly. "You defended him like you were his knight in shining armor, and suddenly you're hauling out the cannons and rallying the troops!"

"What do you _want_ me to do?" House asked, frustrated and fed up with Wilson. "If you're just here to keep lecturing me until you're blue in the face, you can shut up now because it's not doing any good."

"I just want you to go in and give it one more shot," Wilson sighed. "That's it. I'd hate to see you pass up something like this just because you've got your head stuck up your ass. It doesn't matter whether you go in there to make up or end it—he just deserves a civil conversation before this is over. Please, House. I'm not asking a lot."

* * *

Chase's apartment was completely silent. House briefly wondered—or rather, hoped—that Chase might have fallen asleep, but he could hear he faint breathing and knew by the rhythm of it that he was awake. At least Chase had had some time to calm down, so that it would be easier to do this. But even knowing this, House still felt a stir of nervousness as he used his cane to push open Chase's door. 

"Chase?"

Chase was sitting on his bed, and had been staring off into the distance idly before House came in, but his face hardened closed down the instant that he saw House. "Why are you here?" he asked harshly.

"I want to say some things," House said, walking into the room. His feet were silent on the carpeting.

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk," Chase said scathingly. "Sure, what about? I think we covered everything the _last_ time we tried to talk."

"No, we didn't," House said stubbornly, but he refused to let himself get into another argument. This would go the way that he wanted it to go. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry."

Chase snorted. "Okay."

"Let me talk!" House snapped, and Chase looked at him in passive surprise. House realized, with a pain that made him want to look away, that Chase had closed him out. His eyes were flat and unassuming, and House hated the way that Chase seemed to not care about anything around him. He was closed, and didn't want to open up again.

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed lightly. "I was high when I kissed you, back in January," House admitted slowly, "but it was probably one of the smartest things I've ever done. The day after, when you had that heart attack, and I was in the middle of resuscitating you when Cuddy came in, claiming that you had a DNR signed and I had to stop... It _scared_ me, Chase."

House watched Chase's face, but it remained unchanged. He pressed on, knowing that he had to accomplish something.

"Maybe if you hadn't been lying there, dead, I wouldn't have realized it—but I remembered that kiss and I realized that I wanted more. I wanted to know you, to be with you, to protect you... and I knew that there was no way in hell I was going to let some paper stop me. So I forgot Cuddy and saved you... I felt you come back to life." House felt as if he were pouring out his soul, laying it before the gods to judge and condemn, and he felt a twist of unease in his stomach as he glanced at Chase.

"But I thought—" Chase started, but House interrupted him.

"I'm not finished," he said stolidly, not wanting Chase to say something that would spark another fight, and therefore ruin any chance he had of going through with this.

Chase nodded, closing his mouth.

"I didn't tell you that I was high, because I didn't think that it mattered," House pressed on, his voice going back to its original softness. "Things were good, and I thought—well, I guess I wasn't thinking. I was just... But then my apartment burnt down, and the only thing that I seemed to have left was you. I knew that if people found out, they'd burn you down, too, so I tried to...protect you... but it blew up in my face. You got hurt."

Chase blinked, but House wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Regardless, he had to keep going before he lost his nerve.

"Things went back to normal then, and you wanted people to know about us." House sighed, knowing that this was where things would get difficult. "I... It was unavoidable, anyways. But things got shitty—Cuddy went berserk, Wilson was all over me, and you started drawing away from me. You wouldn't talk to me, and something was wrong. Then you asked about the first kiss, and I knew there... I couldn't tell you that I was high. I just couldn't. When Cuddy called that damn board meeting, and Wilson came in with his... He thought it was a mistake and I knew it. And when you wouldn't kiss me, I lost it. You weren't mine anymore, you were... You were _Cuddy's_."

A glimmer of life appeared in Chase's eyes, and House saw a flash of the Chase he'd known for the last two months. Encouraged, he let his voice get a little louder. Maybe this would... do something.

"You didn't come home that night. I was... I thought that Wilson might be right, and I had to prove him wrong. I didn't want to lose you," House said, unable to look at Chase anymore. He had to get this out now, and if he saw Chase's face not letting him in, he wouldn't be able to finish. Instead, he concentrated on the floor. "I hated doing it—I didn't want to hurt you, but I just... I had to _know_. I thought that... But then you told me leave, and I knew it was over. Wilson had been right, Cuddy had been right... So I ran away. And for that… I'm sorry."

There was perfect, utter silence in the room. House dared to look up, and saw Chase staring at him, his expression unchanged.

"I don't trust you," Chase said finally, his voice factual.

House fought disappointment. "Okay," he said quietly. He had to restrain himself from saying anything more because Chase was not his anymore. He was shut out and not allowed to say anything more.

"You treated me like crap yesterday," Chase said, still staring at House despite the fact that House refused to look at him. "And the day before that."

House said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He wouldn't deny it, but he wouldn't agree with Chase. That was unnecessary. They both knew that what Chase was saying was true.

"But before that, it was all right."

House blinked and slowly turned to look at Chase, willing himself not to trust what he'd heard. It didn't mean anything. His mind was jumping conclusions, just telling him what he wanted to hear… He told himself that. But it didn't change the fact that he could see the light breaking through on Chase's face, that his shoulders were relaxing and that his tone was not flat. It was… alive. It was offering.

"I think…" Chase started slowly, but then he trailed off and looked down to the bed in frustration. "You'll do it again. I know it, but Wilson's right… I am…"

"You're what?" House asked involuntarily, the words leaving his mouth before he could remind himself to be quiet.

For a moment, Chase closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, but then he shook his head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. I just—I think that it would dumb to let these past few days ruin everything that we had. It'll pass." Something flashed in his eyes, something that sent a shiver of guilt down House's spine. "You were wrong—this _won't_ last forever."

"We could pack up and move to San Francisco," House said carefully, not knowing if he was treading into unwelcome waters.

Chase's eyebrows rose. "Why San Francisco?"

Feeling reassured, House gave him a knowing look. "Of course you wouldn't know," he said, still being careful to not overstep his boundaries.

"Wouldn't know what?" Chase asked with fast-decreasing patience.

"San Francisco," House said quickly, before he could lose the little peace that they'd managed to gain. "City of the Rainbows—lots of gay people."

Appeased, Chase gave him a wry smile. "We could just move to Australia, you know. They've already legalized same-sex unions."

House put a hand over his heart dramatically, doing his best to look astonished. "Chase, are you proposing to me? That's not even right—I am _definitely_ the man in this relationship…"

"You? You're the biggest gossip I've ever seen," Chase snorted, his expression dismissive. "You love to talk about _everyone_ and everything that they've been doing."

"I'm not the one who has my hair dyed," House shot back.

"It's not dyed!" Chase insisted. "Do you see any dark roots on this head?" He ran his fingers through his hair to show the lack of dark hair. "I don't think so."

"So you got a good job—your father wasn't blonde," House said factually.

Chase stilled for a moment, visibly taken by the mention of his father, and House could have kicked himself for mentioning him. He was about to say something that would save Chase from having to speak, when suddenly Chase spoke up quietly. "My mother was blonde."

House nodded, now unsure of what to say. There was a silence in the room that seemed to lay upon him more heavily than it did Chase, and he felt the pressure to say something increase. There were a billion words at his fingertips, anything that he could say right now, but it all seemed too cliché. Too happy. Too deep. Nothing sounded right. Finally, he gave up in his search and looked Chase in the eyes, silently asking permission.

Chase nodded.

The kiss was soft and gentle at first, seeking forgiveness and reassurance, but then it became stronger as the memories came tumbling back and forced them into a driving, hungry passion. House had dropped his cane on the floor but could care less, and quickly forgot that Wilson was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for news, because he needed more of this. So he let his mind get swept away in the pure, unadulterated love that was radiating from Chase, and for the first time, wondered if he might feel the same way.


	16. One

**Author's Notes: **Okay, folks. Here we are. The last chapter... and I'm going to miss this story, and all of you who review it! I can promise that I won't be continuing this universebut I love the House/Chase pairing too much to ever stop writing stories about them! So keep your eyes peeled. Also, my new story **Get Out Alive** is centered around the House-Chase-Wilson dynamic, so anyone interested should really check it out. I should be posting it sometime next week, if everything goes smoothly. So thank you everyone, and I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

* * *

**Us and Them**

**Chapter 16  
_(One)_  
**

When Chase emerged from the bedroom a few hours later he found that Wilson was gone, but his car was still in the driveway. He must have heard them and figured that they'd made up, and therefore (had) felt that there was no need for him to hang around. He mentioned this to House, who was making his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

"Yeah, well, I've walked in on him in enough broom closets to make up for it," House said glibly, sitting down on the couch. "What's for dinner?"

Chase scrunched up his nose. "Seriously? Not even in the on-call rooms—the _closets_?"

"I hear it's kinky," House said, wiggling his eyebrows. "We should try it sometime... And what's for dinner?"

"That's disgusting," Chase managed, trying not to think about it too much. "And I don't really care. I could try my hand at cooking, or we could order something. I'm not hungry."

"You were," House smirked, and Chase blushed lightly. "Seriously, you'd think that I was whipped cream the way that you were—"

"Okay!" Chase protested, fighting a grin desperately. "I get it! I was a little starved for sex, all right? Excuse me for having a sex drive..."

House was about to respond in kind, when Chase's cell phone began ringing, and he was forced to hold his comment.

Chase checked the caller ID, and was surprised to see that it read _Cameron_ in bold letters. "Hello?" he said, pressing the talk button.

"Chase?" Cameron's voice came, sounding reluctant. "Where are you?"

"My apartment," Chase said. His confusion cleared up a second later when he realized that Cameron hadn't known that he'd left PPTH with Wilson to chase after House, and was probably looking for him. "Wilson and I left to find House," he explained quickly.

"Oh," Cameron said, and Chase could just see her frowning as she processed this information. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine. Everything's fine," he said, watching House tilt his head back to stare at the ceiling and make exaggerated faces of boredom. Chase grinned. "Why are you calling?"

"You need to come back here—our patient's taken a turn for the worse, and we need to do a differential. Did you ever find House?" Cameron asked, and Chase couldn't tell from over the phone whether she was hopeful, or just curious.

"We found him," Chase told her. "We worked things out. What's happened to her? Is she seizing?"

"No," Cameron said. "She went into premature labor twice, and she's been delirious with fever—they can't deliver the baby while she's so sick, because they don't know how contagious it is."

"Have they got her in a clean room?" Chase asked, catching House's attention and making him frown curiously. "Were you treating her for anything?"

"We moved her to a clean room an hour ago, and we stopped the vitamin C supplements after the second premature—look, can you just come in?" Cameron asked. "Bring House with you."

"Sure," Chase said, feeling his heart sink as he realized that his nice, relaxing evening with House was off, and would be spent at the hospital instead. "We'll be there." He shut the phone without waiting to hear Cameron's goodbye, and faced House, who was practically bursting with questions by this point.

* * *

"Freaking Cameron..." House muttered as they walked up to the entrance of PPTH, cane in one hand and a bag of McDonalds in the other. "We could have done a differential over the phone, but _noooo_..." 

"Now you know how we feel when you pull us up here at ungodly hours of the night," Chase replied as he fought to keep his hair from blowing into his face. He longed for Australia, where at least the winters were slightly warmer. He also wished that his hair wasn't so long, and House seemed to notice this.

"Problems with the hair, Chase?" he asked, watching with a self-satisfied smirk. "As fun as it is in bed, it looks like such a pain to deal with..."

"At least I have hair," Chase retorted, tucking a lock behind his ear, only to have it blown in front of his face once more.

"I have hair!" House protested indignantly, and he looked as if he would like to reach up at pat it, but couldn't due to his cane and the bag of food. "You and Wilson both think I'm half-bald—maybe it's one of those arrogance things. The longer your hair is, the shorter everyone else's looks."

"Yeah. _That's_ it," Chase nodded as they had finally reached the main doors. Holding the door for House, he muttered, "Keep telling yourself that."

"Watch it, or you're going to wake up one morning knowing what bald _really_ looks like," House threatened, stopping and waiting for Chase to follow.

"Go ahead. See if I don't make you walk to work," Chase threw back, walking into the warm building gratefully.

"I'll file for old-people abuse," House said, and he began walking again. "For cripple abuse. There's a word for that, I think..."

"If you say so," Chase said airily.

"And now you're patronizing me," House said reposefully. "I think that this could require some punishment. In some closets."

"Doctor BDSM?" Chase asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You were the one who dated the banker with the burn fetish," House said reasonably. He slowed as they approached the elevators and looked to Chase expectantly, indicating the bag and cane to remind him that he had his hands full.

Chase rolled his eyes and pushed the up button. "I'm the one who's _currently_ dating a sadistic misanthrope."

"Touché," House said with a nod. The doors to the elevator opened and he stepped inside, and Chase followed quickly. The ride up to the fourth floor was quiet. They found Cameron and Foreman sitting in the conference room, Foreman leaning against the bookcase playing with the little Buddha statue and Cameron standing next to the whiteboard, marker in hand.

"There you are! What took you so long?" Cameron asked right away, walking over to them with her hands on her hips. "Tini's been here dying, and you were—"

"Tini?" House interrupted, a devilish grin on his face. "Is that seriously her name?"

"Yes," Cameron said huffily. "And she's nearly gone into labor twice more since I called—we have to figure out what's with her before the baby dies!"

"Sorry," House said as he set the McDonalds bag on the table. Unzipping his jacket, he nodded towards the bag. "Had to pick up dinner."

Chase already had his coat off and was hanging it up on the rack, and he held out a hand to take House's coat. "Fast food is so disgusting. I will never understand what you people find so appealing about it."

"Blondie got the apple dippers," House said, jerking his head in Chase's direction. He limped over to the table and grabbed a hamburger, and read the whiteboard as he unwrapped it. "So how many times has the runt tried to pop out?"

"Four," Cameron said, looking a little happier now that they were focusing on the case. "Her family insists that they only work in that little restaurant, and Foreman swept the place along with their home, and it was all clean. The father of the baby says that he doesn't know of any family conditions, but of course, he only knows of three of his relatives, so that wasn't completely—"

"Got it," House said, holding up a hand.

Cameron looked at him expectantly, but kept her mouth shut.

"What's her white count?" Chase asked, hoping that he wasn't about to get chewed out for interrupting. When he saw House shrug, he knew that he was clear and pulled out the little bag of apple slices he'd gotten.

"I thought we agreed that it wasn't an infection," Foreman said, speaking for the first time since Chase and House had come in. "An infection wouldn't last months, like this condition has."

"It could," Chase said, taking a seat at the table. "Does that mean that you didn't do a white count check?"

"We thought it wasn't an infection," Cameron said defensively. "Why would we?"

"_I_ thought that it was an infection," Chase said with a pointed glare at House, who was chewing on a large bite of hamburger. "I say we run a blood smear, check her whites and test for malaria."

House finished chewing and swallowed, holding out his hand towards Cameron, indicating that he wanted the marker. "You can do that later, when we finish the differential." When he had the marker in hand, he set down his food and uncapped it, limping over to the whiteboard. "So what else could it be, besides an infection?"

"It could still be environmental," Chase said right away, earning him a dirty look from Cameron. He put up his hands defensively, and was about to say something in explanation, when House cut him off.

"You're right. Are we having problems with the husband because of the lack of English, or because he doesn't want to talk?" House asked, writing down _environmental_ on the board.

"Maybe both," Foreman said. "He has a strong accent, and seems to have a problem with English-speaking doctors. Thinks we're discriminating against him or something."

"He's aware that he has two homosexuals treating her?" House asked curiously, cocking his head.

"House!" Chase said in annoyance, hating the way he used the label so crudely.

House shrugged. "It's true."

"Yeah, but you don't have to—"

"Anyways," Cameron interrupted loudly with a pointed look at Chase. "What are we going to do about it?"

Chase looked down, but then looked up to meet House's eyes.

"I'll talk to her," House said, breaking the brief moment of eye contact. "I can speak his language, I think." He stopped and looked as if he were deciding something, and then snapped back to attention. "So what else?"

There was silence in the room.

"Maybe... we missed something on the MRI?" Cameron finally said reluctantly.

House sighed and grudgingly wrote it on the board. "Okay. Cameron, Chase—lab. Foreman, you can go over the MRI films again." He turned around and was about to scribble something more on the whiteboard, when the door opened and Cuddy walked in. "Ah, Dr. Cuddy! How positively _corking_ to see you this fine evening!"

Cuddy glared at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Gee, I don't know," House said, his eyes widening as he scratched his head in confusion. "Working, maybe?"

"You can't _work_, you're high!" Cuddy said exasperatedly. "Go home!"

House narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm not _high_. Ask Chase—the morphine wore off six hours ago."

Cameron's facial expression became rapidly disgusted as she heard his words, and Chase wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Part of him agreed with her, but then, it was sort of his duty to defend House... right? He let the moment pass, too wrapped up in his confusion to make a decision. Then Chase suddenly realized that Cuddy was staring at him expectantly, and blushed.

Cuddy let her arms fall to her sides in frustration. "I want to _talk_ to you."

"Oh—yeah. Sure," Chase said, remembering their conversation on the phone this morning. "Now?"

"Why not now?" House said loudly, before Cuddy could get anything out. "It's not like Chase is busy _working_ or anything! You know what? You just take him for the rest of the night—not like _I_ need him or anything."

"I'm glad that you feel that way," Cuddy said primly. "I won't feel guilty borrowing him." She nodded to Chase and then started walking over to the door.

Chase gave House an apologetic shrug as he followed. "I'll be back," he promised, and House stuck out his tongue.

* * *

Cuddy led him to her office, which was darkening with the evening sky, and she indicated that he should sit in the chair across from her desk. Chase sat, part of him dreading what she was going to say and part of him ready to fight out what he had to, to prove his point. Really, he was wishing that he could be back with House more than anything. 

"Dr. Chase," Cuddy said, and for a moment, Chase felt as if he were back in primary school and sitting before the principal. "I hope that you're not too angry with me."

Chase would have loved dearly to say something about that, but he held his tongue and nodded instead.

"You realize that you—and House—have put me in a position that leaves me with almost no options," Cuddy said, folding her hands together on top of her desk and staring Chase straight in the eyes. "My first loyalty has to always be towards the hospital, and not its employees, which means that sometimes I have to realize that people are replaceable, and the hospital is not. It wasn't what I wanted to do, personally, but there was nothing I could do about it professionally. I'm sorry that it has to be like this."

Chase bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself that it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered besides what House thought, and House didn't care. Cuddy didn't matter any more than the flowerpot on the windowsill.

"And also, Dr. Chase," Cuddy continued, "House is the kind of person that needs to be dealt with in extremes—I had to push this to get it through his thick skull that he couldn't start making out with you in the clinic."

"So it's politics," Chase said, trying to keep the coldness from his voice, but he couldn't quite manage it. "We've gotten in the way of your plan."

Cuddy gave him a wry smile. "I'm Dean of Medicine—it's a fancy way of saying Ass Kisser. The hard part of that is separating your personal beliefs from the beliefs that will get you places."

"So this isn't going to end?" Chase asked, working to maintain his polite tone. "For as long as we work here, we'll be unable to display anything just because of your games?"

Cuddy sighed. "It was your choice to do this—if it's worth it, then you'll live with it. There isn't much else I can tell you."

Again, Chase bit down on his cheek, feeling hot saliva rush into his mouth as his teeth tore through the tender lining. He waited and counted to three before he spoke. "So then what did you want to talk to me about, then?"

"I wanted you to know that, even though it might not seem like it, I am happy for you," Cuddy said, giving him a small smile that even Chase could see was sincere. It didn't make him feel any better about things, though.

"I don't understand how you could go against what you believe in," Chase said, trying to express why he was so frustrated. "How you could love a job that gives you power that you can't use. I don't understand how you could live like that... But I know that you can't understand me, so I guess that's sort of fair. I can live with that."

Cuddy said nothing and looked down at her hands as Chase stood up and walked out of her office, feeling strangely better now that he'd said that. He felt lighter, more resolved in his belief that things were finally looking up, and relieved that, at least temporarily, he had come to a truce with Cuddy. Maybe House had something there, about speaking your mind and damning the consequences.

* * *

Chase found House sitting in his office, iPod plugged in and blasting The Who, but stood in front of the glass door for a while, just watching him. House had put him through hell the last few days, and yet, here he was again. He'd promised himself that House would have one more chance to do things right, but he knew in his heart that it was wasted, because even House did this again, he'd still return. 

Exhaling, he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

"I was wondering how long you were going to stand there, staring at my sexy body," House commented as he turned down the volume of his speakers. "I've got paper towels so you can clean up your drool instead of using your sleeve."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Careful with that ego, House. You might find it hard to fit through the door with a head like that."

"I've managed it so far," House said, leaning back in his chair and stretching languidly. "What did Cuddy want?"

"Nothing important," Chase said, crossing the room and leaning against the bookcase that was perpendicular to House's desk. "Just wanted to explain to me how she has two faces and has to kiss conservative ass all day long."

"Ah," House said, yawning hugely. He grabbed his cane and stood up, and from the way he moved, Chase could practically hear his bones creaking and groaning from the movements.

"I was thinking" Chase said hesitantly, and House immediately became fixated on him. He swallowed and continued. "I could work NICU tonight, and then tomorrow we could... I dunno, do something. Fun."

"Or," House said, grabbing a letter from his desk, "You could not work NICU and we could go home and do something _fun_. Like start season five of X-Files" He handed Chase the piece of paper without a word of explanation.

Chase frowned. "You know that I can't..." His words died as he saw what was on the slip of paper.

_Mos left: 0 PAID OFF_

"You... but..." He was speechless as he realized what House had done. "I—the..."

"It's not charity," House said readily. "It's an apology."

Chase let the paper fall to the ground, and it fluttered to the floor soundlessly. "You didn't have to do that," he said slowly, his mind still reeling at the idea that he would never have to work overtime again. "I was working, I could have paid it off..."

"And make me spend all those long nights alone?" House said, cracking a grin. "You overestimate my powers of self-control."

Feeling slightly light-headed, Chase stood there while a faint smile pushed its way onto his face. He blinked several times, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. Part of him was screaming, almost accusingly, that he shouldn't accepting this. He was independent and didn't need House's pity—but then he came to the realization that he wasn't independent. House made up quite a few of the beams that he supported himself on.

"Or you could consider it my contribution to the—" House stopped speaking as the door opened, and Chase spun around to see Cameron standing there with a sheet of paper in one hand.

"Oh," she said, her eyes falling on Chase, and he could see her almost take a step backwards. "I just wanted to say that Chase was right; it was malaria. We started her on chloroquine, and mefloquine just to be safe."

House nodded, and Cameron hurried to shut the door and left quickly. He turned to face a wickedly-grinning Chase.

"I was right," Chase said triumphantly, feeling like a light bulb for all the glee that was radiating off of him. "Which means that _you_ were wrong."

"Can we go back to the part about how I just saved your ass from another month of overtime?" House asked hopefully. "I think that I was enjoying that more."

"Sure," Chase said, his smile softening. "Thank you."

Gently, he pulled House towards him and wrapped his arms around his body, only able to comfortably rest his head against House's chest due to the height difference. He felt House slowly hug him back, and Chase realized that hugging hadn't really been something that they'd done... but it felt right. Comfortable. And for the first time in many, many months he felt...

Free.


End file.
